Halo: Lost and Found :: A Halo Wars Epilogue
by Owen Atticus
Summary: The Spirit of Fire is adrift in space, slowly making its way back home, when Serina, the ship's AI, awakens Captain James Cutter. With hope of their safe return fading, the crew may finally see a chance for rescue. COMPLETED. THANKS FOR READING!
1. Chapter 1

_Spirit of Fire_

Location: Unknown

_Military Clock: 0125 hours, 23.04.2536_

"Captain, wake up. Something has happened."

Hesitantly, Captain James Cutter forced his eyes open. Overwhelming light stabbed into his aging eyes and he was sure tears would form under his gray eyebrows. His cryo-pod cracked open with a hiss, the burning sensation over his covered torso nearly crippling him. He failed to maintain his balance and he dropped to the grated floor. Heaving a chilling breath, he exhaled with a hacking cough, racking his body with even more pain.

His mind tried to catch up with his present state. The Captain had been quick-thawed only once before, and he knew the only reason for such a risky procedure was dire circumstances. And if they were indeed dire, then as captain of the _Spirit of Fire_, he was needed to be fully functional.

He rolled onto his rear and cleared the moisture from his face with a brush of his hand. He shielded his eyes till they were partially adjusted to the Cryo Room's overhead glowpanels. He coughed a few more times before looking up at a small pedestal stationed at the very end of the chamber. James was expecting to see the glowing avatar of Serina, the ship's on board AI, but the pedestal remained dark.

Nevertheless, Serina's voice echoed though the speaker system. "Captain, I need you on the bridge."

James frowned to himself. _Since when did I take orders from an AI?_ He shook the mildly amusing thought from his mind and lifted himself up off the floor, clutching his own pod for balance. "Give me a minute." He let a quick dizziness spell evaporate before his eyes and started for the exit. James found his locker and quickly got dressed. It would be highly improper for a UNSC Captain to go strutting around the deck wearing nothing more than a body suit.

Placing his trusty cap on his head, James paused in front of the locker's small mirror. His mind was racing with random thoughts, even distracting so-called priorities of dressing one's self, and his gut began to grow cold with worry that any more delay could ultimately effect the _Spirit of Fire_ in the most negative way. He nodded to his reflection and slammed the door shut.

James exited the Cryo Room, taking note that there were no other crew members up and about, and walked down the short foyer that lead to a long hallway. He passed Cryo Rooms Two and One, and he stopped short when he noticed the empty lockers outnumbering the occupied ones, situated along the wall. James sighed as he placed a hand over an opened locker door and shut it quietly. On its exterior, the paint had been chipped and scarred from too many times when the owner had hurried off to battle. The worn identifying label was still attached: Pvt. Gregory Aiken. Cutter didn't recognize the name, and he wondered at what point the marine had sacrificed his life in service to the UNSC_. Was it on Arcadia, or possibly on that God-forsaken shield world? _

He didn't have the answer, but the memories of those engagements were still vividly entrenched in his mind. His priorities since taking back Harvest had changed suddenly and drastically after discovering the Covenant had found and unlocked an ancient star map deep inside the polar regions. Professor Ellen Anders was able to access the map, albeit briefly, and it led them to Arcadia, the doctor's own homeworld. Cutter pivoted on his right foot and leaned back against the locker's cool metal surface_. When we got there, the Covies were just slaughtering innocent civilians_. He felt his hands tighten into fists so he forced them open. _We saved as many as we could that day_.

The Covenant had found something of importance on Arcadia, and after a long battle, Anders and Sgt. John Forge were able to search the devastated area for clues of the enemy's plans. _Only Anders was captured and we had to follow her transponder. A security breach like that could have ended the war right then and there_. But what Cutter or Serina couldn't anticipate was arriving at an uncharted system. _Only it wasn't just another transit stop, but a shell of a world. A shield world, if you will_. There they not only encountered a Covenant presence but a new lifeform Serina had classified as parasitic in nature. _Had Private Aiken succumbed to the ill affects of this infection? _Sadly, James knew that of all the possible ways to die on the battlefield, that would have been the worst.

Following Anders' signal brought them to the inside of the planetoid where the _Spirit of Fire_ clashed briefly with the Covenant ship that led them there. Taking a lot of damage, they were able to achieve some hasty field repairs before clearing the engagement. Miraculously, Professor Anders had escaped her captivity and Sgt. Forge helped her get back to the ship. While he was able to lead the ground forces in establishing a beachhead on the surface, Anders relayed her findings that the Covenant had unlocked an ancient armada of highly advanced ships and were planning to instigate them into their own fleet.

James pushed himself off the locker and started walking again. He wondered why he didn't dream of any of this while in cryo sleep, but he figured it was for the best. Without Sgt. Forge's sacrifice of personally detonating the _Spirit of Fire_'s FTL drive at the shield world's core, the Covenant could have wiped Humanity off the galactic map in a matter of years with that technology. _Sacrifice_, James thought to himself. _If there were one word that could sum up the actions of the brave men and women who have fought with the _Spirit of Fire_, it would be sacrifice_. Pursing his lips, he shook his head and tried to reorient to his current situation. _Get your mind right, Cutter_.

His brisk amble down the empty corridors was short lived when he turned it into a flat out sprint. Slightly annoyed at Serina's vague "something has happened" statement, his mind wanted to fill the void with his own speculations. _Could we have reached a UNSC outpost already? Did something go wrong in Medical? Have one of the Cryo Rooms malfunctioned?_ Either way, he would know soon enough.

The bridge door hissed open just as James Cutter stomped his pace down to a fast walk. Catching his breath took longer than he had expected, but he did breathe a deep sigh of relief at seeing Serina's holoform glowing at the central tactical display. He knew she was coming up on the end of her expected lifespan, but as for now, she appeared her usual, bland self. "Serina, status."

She pivoted in place, turning to face him. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Just a little winded," he said, finally able to get his breathing under control.

Serina eyed him closely for a few more seconds before nodding once. "Sir, I've managed to pick up a faint transmission, very dim, but without any FTL oscillations to color the frequencies, I was able to find it under an old broadcast range." The tactical screen flickered to life, its blue grid pattern replaced with a fuzzy image of a somewhat-round, large object with smaller specs littered around it. "The source is coming from here."

The Captain's eyebrows met together in confusion. "What exactly am I looking at, Serina."

"My best guess is that this is a remnant of an asteroid field."

James leaned over the edge of the display, but quickly looked up and started out the forward viewports. He could see nothing but the black velvet void with very few stars sprinkled over its canvas. There was no light coming in from the outside, only the low-lit glowpanels near the floor of the bridge provided any illumination_. How can we be anywhere near a system?_ He pressed a few buttons on the tactical display and brought up a split-image view of Serina's find with that of the local star chart records.

The records simply read: STAR CHARTS UNAVAILABLE/ UNKNOWN.

"So we're still out in No Man's Land," Cutter conceded. "Can you give me anything on where we might be? Even a local star?"

"I've been updating our database on a rolling basis, but without a familiar constellation backdrop, our mapping of this area of the galaxy is really only good for where we've been." Serina switched the error message to a crudely constructed star map that was very cylindrical in nature, due to the never-changing vector they had been traveling.

Cutter chewed on the inside of his cheek. "How long has it been since our departure?" he asked, marveling at the size of the area they had covered.

"Five years, one month, and twelve days."

_That long and we're still nowhere near friendly territory_. He shook his head wearily, and pulled his attention back to the other half of the tactical hologram. "So what does this transmission say?"

Bringing a hand to her ear, Serina activated the bridge speakers. A burst of static boomed loudly and lasted for several seconds before cutting off abruptly. The garbled transmission started again, but this time at a quieter volume, as Serina explained. "I'm afraid there's not much more to it than that, Sir."

James straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. "And this is what gave you reason to quick-thaw me?"

"The likelihood of sentient life communicating out here in between star systems is infinitesimal. And honestly, Sir, there has been nothing to see or hear since we left the shield world." She gave him a flat smile. "And I knew everyone else would already deem me crazy."

Sighing, more out of contemplation than frustration, Cutter shifted his weight. "Regardless, I'm here." He motioned to the blurry image floating before him. "What's so important about this static transmission? Even black holes emit radio waves, Serina."

She nodded. "Yes, but not with a perceivable pause. The break in the transmission is likely the sender awaiting a response."

"And the message is repeating?" James asked, suddenly feeling his pulse quicken.

"Yes, Sir." Serina gathered her hands behind her back. "The pause will vary in length, so I ruled out an automated signal in the likelihood of it being a pre-recorded message."

"Is there anything in the transmission to make you believe it's Human in origin?"

"I'm unable to tell for sure. The initial run through the audio scrubbers came up blank, but there's no encryption on the signal."

Cutter worked his jaw. "What are the odds this is Covenant lure?"

Serina was silent for a moment. "It is possible, however unlikely. It's too obvious for a trap," she deduced.

James growled to himself. He knew the chances of making it back home safely were small. He also knew that being in unfamiliar territory had forced them to run silent, whereas if they were adrift in UNSC-controlled space they would light up the airwaves like a New Year's celebration. _Five years_. He shook his head. _If this is our chance at contact_ . . .

"Serina, set a course towards the source of that transmission." He circled around the other side of the tactical display to find an operable terminal.

"Aye, Sir," Serina said assertively.

"Have Cryo Rooms One, Two, and Four queue for a quick thaw." Cutter narrowed his eyes. "And wake the Professor. We might need her help on this one."

* * *

Professor Ellen Anders wiped the last lingering bit of tiredness from her eyes and straightened up when the lift doors chimed open. She walked into the small personnel lift and pressed the button for the Bridge, closing the doors.

Once she was released from her cryo-pod, Anders had raced to her lab down on the observation deck only to find most of her equipment on a hard restart. She knew her things were safe from other crewmembers meddling with the delicate artifacts, but it didn't rule out Serina poking her head in and turning off Ellen's computer gear. She had silently cursed the AI, knowing full well that Serina would just as soon wipe all of Ellen's recent findings just to spite her, let alone use some rant about shutting off the power to unused decks as justification.

The doors chime again, this time opening up to a fully lit corridor and other crewmembers in a state of self-collection. Anders let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She had always prided herself in combating the ill effects of cryo-sleep. She was even able to adapt her own cryo-pod to apply a thin layer of specialized coating to limit the itchiness and discomfort prone to one who wore clothing during the flash-freezing. It most likely was illegal to tamper with UNSC surplus, but the Captain had never voiced his concerns to her.

She moved quickly now, abandoning her hold on her white lab coat, and started for the bridge. She kept her pace somewhere between a trot and a fast walk. It wouldn't do her any good to look foolish in front of others, for that matter. The crisp sound of synced footsteps turned her head partway around.

"Excuse us, Ma'am."

It was the trio of Spartans that marched past, and Ellen mentally kicked herself for not picking up on their orderly gait. They, unlike every other person— save her, appeared fully functional and walked with a purpose. She reckoned they were headed for the bridge as well, providing her with a little more data on the current chain of command. _Forge _was _the leader on the ground, but now _. . . Ellen frowned at her recollection. _That damn sergeant had to go be a hero and save us all_. She let out a sigh. _Just when I was starting to like him_. Well, if the Spartans were going to head up an assault team, it was fine with her. They had definitely proven themselves time and time again on that shield world.

Up ahead, the bridge doors hissed opened for the three soldiers, the two in back judging the distance so as to clear the doorway with a centimeter to spare on either side. Anders quickened her pace, hoping to make it through the door while it was still ajar.

_Nope_. It slammed shut and she took a sudden sidestep to avoid activating the sensor to open the door. She was sure the Captain was already filling the Spartans in on what Serina deemed important, but she needed to make her own entrance. _Not in an arrogant way_, Ellen explained to herself, _just so everyone on the bridge knows that I'm as important as the next person_. She cringed at her own semi-delusional thoughts and entered the bridge.

And was greeted by the most annoying sound she'd heard since her youth when she was pulled to a local dive and forced to listen to the stuff they called music. But unlike the rhythmic pulse of long ago, the static blaring over the bridge's speaker system seemed almost mathematical, binary. She saw Captain Cutter wave her over towards the tactical display, and noticed that the three Spartans huddled on the nearest edge were studying the floating blob before them. Serina stood on her pedestal, lifted chin and all, and smiled as the Professor took the only available spot around the tactical display.

The static cut off and James Cutter nodded to Anders. "Good to see you're not suffering too badly." His right eyebrow arched up. "Though I didn't expect you to take that long to get here."

Ellen pursed her lips. "I wanted to stop by my lab," she said, mechanically rotating her head to stare at Serina. "But someone already beat me there." She was pleased to see Serina frown, though briefly, and the AI opened her mouth to speak. But Anders cut off any side comment. "It doesn't matter. My equipment needs to have diagnostics run on them anyway." She pointed to the holoform before them. "What's this?"

The Captain sighed, more audibly than usual. "The source of that signal you just heard. But other than that, we don't know."

One of the Spartans, the biggest one, spoke up first. "Could this just be an interstellar outpost stationed by the Covenant?"

Serina shook her head, keeping the rest of her body completely stiff. "Highly unlikely. The transmission I just played was not under any of the usual Covenant frequencies, or UNSC frequencies. It's very weak and very low-fi." The image on the tactical display flickered once and the fuzzy image became slightly more detailed. "We're on an intercept course with it, thus the visual and audio scanners are updating every few minutes. But there's a very good chance we won't know what we're dealing with until we're right up on it."

"That's not very comforting," Anders murmured. She let her eyes fix on the semi-transparent blob and ran a thousand images in her mind in which to compare. While resembling a chewed-up asteroid, there was one side that was smoother than the others, as if worn down from thermal reentry. "What's your take on this thing?" she asked, partially wanting to see if her deduction was an original thought.

"Serina believes it to be an asteroid of some sorts," Cutter offered.

Anders eyed the Captain. "But that's not what you think," she inferred.

Cutter placed both his hands on the edge of the display, gently supporting his weight. "I'm not sure what I think now. With everything the _Spirit of Fire_ has been through over the last few engagements, I doubt I'd be surprised if it was a Covenant Prophet heralding a peace treaty."

That remark earned an abbreviated shoulder bob from one of the Spartans, the other male, Anders noticed.

"Either way," Cutter continued, "it has to be some type of sentient lifeform."

Ellen felt a wave of stiffness shoot down her spine and it straightened her up. Thoughts of those parasitic beasts they battled on the shield world came right into the forefront of her mind. The new categorization of that species was still, since her freezing, being debated by a collection of medical officers on board. It was another wildcard to throw in the deck, but after dealing with both the parasites and the Covenant, Anders knew there was no way the two could have anything to do with one another. Still, it was unnerving to think they could run into those interesting specimens again.

"You alright, Professor?"

Ellen snapped out of her daze and gave a lopsided grin to the Captain. "Yes, Sir. If it will help, I'd like to run a few tests of my own on the signal." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Serina turning to face her, but Ellen avoided making eye contact. "I have some analysis equipment down in my lab that could clean up some of that noise."

"Sir, with respect, I believe that will not be needed," Serina chimed in. "As we get closer to the source our chances of interpreting the signal increase. We are still well outside weapons' range for any known capital ship, and if my calculations are correct, our sensors should be able to make complete sense of the anomaly in approximately 2.2 hours."

"We're still that far away?" Ellen blurted out. She studied the floating holoform again, trying to find some hidden detail she had not seen before.

"Yes," Cutter confirmed, "and we're going to need everyone ready when it comes time to deal with this." The Captain looked across the tactical display at the three soldiers. "I can't thank the three of you enough for sticking with us after evacuating the Arcadian civilians. None of us could have anticipated the path that has lead us here— wherever 'here' is." He sighed and pushed himself upright. "After loosing Sgt. Forge and over half of my officers, I need some leadership my guys can follow on the ground. I know it may seem unorthodox, but ONI brass isn't here to debate with me." Cutter gathered his arms behind his back. "If you'd be willing to lead the taskforce team in the Sergeant's wake, I would greatly appreciate it."

The center Spartan remained unmoved for a few seconds. Anders tried to stare past the golden visor of his helmet to see the man's expression underneath, but she failed to do so. She could image the thoughts swirling about his mind.

Ellen, like the Spartans, was commissioned by the Office of Naval Intelligence, and knew the various protocols, or sometimes lack thereof, given on each assignment. But Red Team was a special case, being hauled off to track down Anders herself. _I had gotten them into this mess in the first place_. She dismissed the guilt within half a second, realizing that without the _Spirit of Fire_ following and rescuing her, they never would have halted the Covenant from using those ancient ships.

While she assumed that Dr. Halsey was soaking up most of ONI's funding, she couldn't deny the valuable resource these super soldiers had become. _She may be a total bitch, but she knows how to get things done_. She smiled internally. _If Catherine ever heard me say that about her, things might get even more heated between us. Even with a compliment thrown into the insult_.

The Spartan— Jerome 092, Ellen finally remembered— turned his head to his left then right, catching the glances from the soldiers at his sides. "While I feel we function better as a support group, I understand the circumstances." He straightened himself up to his full height. "Duty accepted. We are in your command, Captain." In unison, the other two Spartans snapped to attention.

Cutter nodded solemnly, and Anders could almost see a weight lift off of the older man's shoulders. "Thank you." He held his prideful gaze a moment longer before nodding once more. "We still have a few hours before we can make any real judgement, so Professor," he said, turning his head to Anders. "You have that time to run your analysis."

"Thank you, Captain," Ellen replied, anxious to begin her work. "If there's nothing else, I'll go ahead and start."

James Cutter gestured to both Anders and the Spartans. "Then if there's no other questions, we have some preparations to make. Dismissed."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Ellen took another sip of coffee and set her mug down on the see-though flooring of her lab, also known as the Observation Deck. She had "commandeered" the deck for several reasons, but at the heart of it, she just liked view. Though right now, the blackness of space felt more devouring, more cold than usual. Her reason for sitting cross-legged on the ground was her obsessive-compulsive way of not staying in the same place for very long. Ellen found that if she was stuck on a certain hypothesis or theorem, simply by moving to another portion of the room she could adjust her perspective and most often than not, resolve the issue.

She had only been working on the audio transmission for twenty minutes when she was finally able to make some semblance of sense. The small computer device in her left hand beeped once, informing her of the scrubbing program's completion, and she placed the large headphones over her ears once more. She set her datapad in her lap and pressed her hands over the headphones, removing any unwanted, outside sounds. Ellen closed her eyes to focus all the more.

"_Thi . . . SC . . . Tradewi . . . can hea . . . espond . . . damaged . . . this ast . . . tion code . . . avo, Bravo . . ._"

Ellen smiled, opened her eyes, and replayed the transmission again. _It's English, alright_. From the latest batch of recordings of the signal, Anders could easily begin to notice the sounds of a voice. The words were too colored to make much sense of them, but Ellen knew if she was to get to the right conclusion before Serina, she would have to act fast. She knew others would find her competitiveness with the AI trivial, but Ellen considered it a healthy, professional rivalry.

Going on the assumption that the message was being repeated rather than having a new string of words with each burst, Anders was able to take the subtle nuances of annunciation and find common patterns in the speech. By taking the samples after every pause, she developed a wide pool from which to grab.

Above Anders, at one of her many desks filled with all sorts of gadgets, a terminal beeped, signaling the newest batch of transmissions was ready for analysis. She quickly got up and found her legs tingling from being locked in the same position for too long, but Ellen walked the numbness off by taking small, careful steps to the desk. She glanced over the recording times, finding them to be between fifteen to eighteen seconds long, and started her filter program once more.

Ellen donned on her headphones again and eagerly waited for the program to finish.

* * *

Captain James Cutter was looking over the latest supply listings, hoping to hear some good news from the quartermaster, when Ellen Anders burst onto the bridge, looking a little haggard. Her hair had fallen loose around her face and sweat dotted her forehead. "Professor, anything new?"

It only took Anders one gulping breath to bring herself back to normal, but her eyes searched the bridge, obviously looking for something in particular. She smiled and keyed the datapad in her hand. "Yes, Captain," she said, walking towards the tactical display. "I've managed to clear up most of the noise and what I found is most interesting."

"Terrific," James thanked the Professor. For all of her quirky behavior, she truly was a great asset to have on board. "Hold on," he asked, holding up a hand and turning to the AI pedestal. "Serina, Anders has something."

It was a few seconds before Serina's avatar appeared, and her smile seemed more forced than usual. "You've completed your analysis of the signal already?"

Cutter noticed Anders wearing a satisfied grin. "Go ahead," he prompted.

The Professor switched on the playback and folder her arms across her chest.

There was a short pop before the recording started, followed by something James never could have guessed. "_This is the UNSC vessel _Tradewind_. If you can hear us, please respond. Our ship is badly damaged and we're stranded on this asteroid. Authorization code: Epsilon, Delta, Bravo, Bravo, Four, Two, Epsilon_." The transmission cut off abruptly, leaving the bridge in stunned silence.

Serina spoke up first. "Running a search of our databanks for _Tradewind_ . . ."

James narrowed his eyes, trying to search his own memory for a ship that went by that name. Of the countless ships he had the honor of fighting along side, most were dead and gone or stuck in a repair yard.

He came up blank.

"Captain, EDBB-42-E, sounds a lot like a fleet designation," Anders offered.

"Here we are, Sir," Serina said.

The tactical display lit up with a new image, one of a spacecraft design that James had not seen in a very long time. The title _Tradewind_ was displayed below the oddly shaped craft, as the ship slowly rotated in midair. _Tradewind_ had a boxy engine section connected to a forward cabin by a cylindrical-shaped fuselage. The hull was covered with sensor probes that James imagined could retract during atmospheric flight. Lines of data and statistics began to spew out over the hologram and he caught the measurement of length to be 200 meters long. While still appearing to be military, its design was one of a forgotten past.

"What exactly is it?" Anders asked.

"Epsilon-Delta-Bravo-Bravo is the prefix designation for scout ships," Serina informed.

"It's a mapping ship," James clarified, pointing to the extensions protruding off the hull. "Those antennas are layered with sensor gear. They were commissioned by the government right around the time when the inner colonies began their boom, hoping to get a better idea of what planets we could populate."

Anders frowned and pointed to the flashing message: MIA. "But that was nearly 200 years ago. Why is it that no one came looking for them?"

Serina tilted her head thoughtfully. "_Tradewind_ would have been traveling through uncharted regions of space, the most dangerous of missions, and the crew knew it when they signed up. However they came to be stranded here in interstellar space is a mystery. I'm not sure the UNSC would know where to look. These mapping ships covered a wide range of the galaxy."

"Hmm." Cutter leaned over the tactical display, reading over the endless amount of information scrolling before his eyes. The specs on _Tradewind_ revealed it to be equipped with a first generation Cryo Room along with stores of supplies. James knew how awful those first-gen cryo-pods could be. They were prone to failure and often left one's flesh permanently scarred from the freezing process. But coupled with lasting foodstuffs, the crew could theoretically survive as long as they have. "Serina, send out a broad-spectrum ping for acknowledgment, then queue the comm channel. Let's not leave them waiting any longer."

"Aye, Sir."

Thankfully, Serina had enough sense not to deafen them by playing the full-range ping over the bridge speakers. When the AI nodded to Cutter, he took a deep breath and keyed the comm on the terminal at his side. "This is Captain James Cutter of the UNSC _Spirit of Fire_. We copy your transmission, _Tradewind_, and we are here to lend assistance." James straightened up and waited for a reply.

* * *

Seated on an ammo crate, Jerome stared at his warped reflection off the golden visor of his helmet. His pale face was made a shimmering sun that stretched to both left and right. He rubbed his gloved right thumb over a scared section of the lower jaw. Even through the protective layer encasing his thumb he could feel the divot an Elite had gouged out during one of Red Team's most recent engagements. If he wanted to, Jerome could have recalled the battle in perfect detail where he had earned his armor's latest blemish. But he wasn't in the mood.

"Jerome, the Captain wants . . ."

He looked up to find Douglas fully armored, standing in the doorway of the Armory. The bright light filtering in from the hallway shrouded him in a ghostly silhouette, but his stance told Jerome he was taken aback by seeing the weary face of his leader. Jerome forced a smile at the fellow Spartan and sat up tall. "You and Alice ready?" he asked donning on his helmet.

"Yeah," Douglas said slowly, shifting his feet. He poked a thumb out into the hall. "Captain says they found out what the anomaly is. He just called for us to head to the bridge."

"Right," Jerome said, as he sealed the collar of his armor. His heads-up-display flickered to life when the MJOLNIR helmet connected with the necessary feeds coming from the rest of his suit. The quick diagnostics he had run just minutes before proved accurate as the HUD's motion tracker caught the nearby movements of people wandering the hall outside. What gave him pause was the lack of an ammo counter in the upper right corner. He reached a hand behind him to feel for the MA5B assault rifle he had strip-cleaned prior to his M6 pistol at his side . . . but no, the M6 wasn't there either.

"You okay, 092?"

Jerome gave Douglas a glare. He had told both him and Alice not to use their Spartan tag numbers when he took charge of Red Team. He knew the numbering system was considered necessary in its own rite, but he felt detached when Spartans referred to each other as a set of digits. The only reason Douglas would have called him by 092 was if the other Spartan needed to remind Jerome of his profession and place in the military. They were family, after all, and Jerome wanted to keep Red Team a tightly knit group.

He turned around in a circle, seeing if he had laid his weapons down on the floor or propped them against the crate. "I thought I had—" He stopped his rotation when he saw the reflective silver of his M6 in a rack on the wall above his MA5B. Shaking his head, he could hear Douglas walking over to his side. "I must be losing it."

Douglas shrugged and pulled the assault rifle off the rack, handing it to Jerome. "Hey, five years in a cryo-pod would do this to anyone."

He accepted the weapon and locked it in place on his back. "But we're not just anyone. We're Spartans." He slapped the M6 to the magnetic strip on his thigh and let out a sigh_. _Jerome knew most of his uneasiness was stemming from something he had worked all his life to remove: _Survivor's Guilt_. He had been primed, even anxious to personally align the _Spirit of Fire_'s FTL core to detonate the drive in the shield world's artificial sun. _But Forge stepped in and sacrificed himself as we held off the Covies. _And now that guilt was back with a fervor.

Whenever he was in the heat of battle, every rogue thought subsided to the back of his mind, a tactic that was most useful to a soldier. But during these "off the clock" hours, every stray thought would begin to connect to another and create a deceitful web of remorse that threatened to bubble over into outward expression. And Jerome was good at not showing any emotion. He once thought it was a good quality to have in a Spartan. _Once_.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to quell the pain of his past. He had his share of bad memories, those before everything that transpired with the _Spirit of Fire_. _Killing? That is something Spartans are groomed for. Suppressing the memories of all we have seen and experienced? Well, some deal with it better than others_. For Jerome, a certain memory was best kept locked and sealed in the back of his mind.

Shaking his head again, Jerome patted Douglas on the arm. "I'll be fine, now let's go see what this mystery signal really is."

* * *

In the time it took for the Spartans to make it to the bridge, there was still no variation of the transmission to infer _Tradewind _had heard Cutter's reply. The desperate calls began to sound more frantic and James realized they would have to approach contact with the mapping ship in a different manner. He stood at the forward viewport, their destination finally in view. "Serina, ETA on _Tradewind_."

"We will be upon the asteroid in approximately twenty minutes, given their trajectory doesn't shift."

"That would be unlikely," Anders murmured from across the bridge. She was staring rather intently at the two-dimensional image of the asteroid displayed along the back wall of the bridge. "And I don't think it's what you say. The smoothness of the forward-most side is leaning me to believe it to be a comet."

"A _comet_? Are you meaning to say this is something similar to Earth's Kuiper Belt Objects?"

Cutter spun around to find Anders standing with arms folded, obviously trying not to give Serina the satisfaction of stumping her with some obscure reference. He knew what the KBOs were. Every time a ship left the outer edges of the Solar System they had to check with the local outpost's traffic controller to make sure the outbound vector was clear of floating debris. But he doubted the Professor had ever heard of them.

Anders sighed. "I'm merely stating my opinion that it doesn't really match the characteristics of an asteroid."

Raising an eyebrow, James interjected. "If you two are done arguing semantics, we need to figure out our approach."

"Sorry, Captain," Anders said quickly. She glanced over at the three statue-like soldiers, as if noticing them for the first time. "Sorry."

Serina nodded her head. "Sir, _Tradewind _seems to be located on the back end of the . . . object. It's still moving at nearly 20 percent of our flank speed."

The tactical display lit up with the clearest image of their destination since first contact. The comet-like object was nearly a quarter the size of Earth's moon, but its texture was rockier and colored an eerie green. The other, smaller objects looked as if they were broken off chunks of the larger but had been caught up in the gravity well, staying huddled like baby chicks to a hen.

James tapped a finger over his lips contemplatively_. If we bring the _Spirit of Fire_ around the back of the asteroid_— _it still looks like an asteroid to me_— _all of those smaller pieces floating around it could chew through our hull in a matter of minutes_. Taking a ship their size through any sort of debris field would spell disaster, but the Captain was not without options. "Serina, I assume since _Tradewind_ hasn't responded to our hails that it is unable to receive inbound signals."

She nodded. "I concur."

"And what about visual contact?"

Serina changed the hologram on the display to a rough interpretation of the mapping ship's orientation on the asteroid. _Tradewind_ was lodged into the object from the midsection on to the forward cabin, with only the rear half of the ship above the surface. From their vantage point, Cutter couldn't tell if the forward sections were obliterated or if they survived the impact and became buried underneath the rock and ice. A thick cloud of dust surrounded the entire rear portion of the asteroid, shielding anything secondary sensors would be able to detect.

_It's a wonder they're even able to transmit through that mess_. He frowned. "I see."

"Or not, really," Serina chided.

James gave her an abbreviated glare, but gestured to the image without further comment on her inability to tell a decent joke. "If our sensors say this is mostly made up of rock and ice, what about the smaller objects?"

The view shifted to a close-up of a few tightly packed chunks, and a sediment analysis filled an opened window next to them. "More ice, rock, and gases," Serina said. "Nothing too important." She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut, delaying her words for a moment. "Though if you plan on using them for target practice with the MAC, it might not be a wise choice. The gases are combustible and would inevitably set off a chain reaction that could do more harm than good."

"Wonderful." James folded his arms across his chest, contemplating his next move. Cutter's mind started to race with ideas. He so enjoyed a good puzzle, but when human lives were at stake, he often went with the safest method. "If the _Spirit of Fire_ can't make it to _Tradewind_, then we'll have to fly in some transports to scout the area," he concluded.

Anders stirred where she stood, and hastily entered a command into the tactical display to bring up the image of _Tradewind_'s likely position. She zoomed in on the boxy engine section and pointed to it with an index finger. "Captain, if the engine section is still running on power . . ." She brought up her head and laced a smile on her lips. "Then their slipspace drive could still be intact." She took a long stride to the terminal next to the tactical display and began typing away. "If I can compare the specs of each vessel, we might be able to adapt the FTL drive for our own use," she said, he face lighting up with hope.

"One problem at a time, Professor," Cutter calmed, suppressing a smile. Last time it was Serina who jumped to the next step in his otherwise unmade plans. The conversation even revolved around the use of a certain FTL drive— the _Spirit_ _of_ _Fire_'s to be specific.

Serina made the sound of a throat clear and turned to face the Captain. "So we're to send a boarding part over? How nice."

James snorted. "I'm glad you agree, Serina." He looked up to the Spartans who were silently watching the drama on the bridge play out in its usual fashion. "This is where you come in. It would be too risky to drop down a Fire Base with all that surrounding clutter, so we're going to ferry our people over via dropships." He nodded to Spartan 092, keeping his distance so as not to strain his neck while looking up. "I imagine flying over will be no easy task, but we need to contact _Tradewind_. I ask the three of you to take three different birds over, bringing a squad of marines each. It _is _a UNSC vessel and I don't expect trouble, but nowadays, you never know."

He gathered his hands at the small of his back. "I'll have my best pilots fly you to the landing zone."

"And the LZ is where?" 042 asked mildly.

Cutter gave a short laugh. "Wherever you find room around _Tradewind_'s crash site." James circled back around to stand along side Anders at the terminal. "We'll update you as we get more information."

The Spartan leader nodded. "Sir," he acknowledged.

"Good luck out there, Spartans."

He waited for the three soldiers to exit the bridge before recognizing Anders silent gaze. He could feel her eyes staring into the back of his head, so he didn't bother turning around. "I assume you'd like to head over with the first wave," he stated.

The Professor sighed. "Captain, I know the risks involved and believe me, I'd like nothing more than to make up for—"

"Get your things ready," James interrupted, finally turning to face her. "I know keeping you here would be fighting a loosing battle."

"Thank you," Anders breathed.

He held up a hand to forestall her rushing out. "But keep in mind our priorities here. The safe rescue of _Tradewind_'s crew is our main objective." He allowed a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. "But salvaging an FTL drive afterwards wouldn't be so bad."

Ellen Anders nodded enthusiastically and left the bridge in a hurried trot.

With that final comment, James was left to help organize the landing party. He only prayed things would go a lot smoother than they did last time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Jerome felt the sealed cabin's floor rumble as the three dropships lifted off and out of the main hangar. He was seated behind the pilot in the cramped quarters of the cockpit, but managed to crane his neck around to see the six marines seated in the small passenger section of the ship. A few wore expressionless masks, while at least one clutched his harness as if it wouldn't keep him in place. Jerome knew a search and rescue mission was rarely just that, and he could tell these men had their qualms as well. _Even if they don't visible show it_.

Captain Cutter's voice sparked through the comm. "Be careful out there. If we are able to give you any updates on _Tradewind_, we'll let you know."

"Aye, Sir," the female pilot said. "And thanks." Fully encased in a sealed pilot's suit of her own, Jerome had not even picked up on the fact that his pilot was a woman. With her accent, he placed her as definitely being from an outer colony world, though which one, he couldn't tell. He would have asked her, if he truly wanted to probe her personal life, but the task before her was a daunting one at that and she needed to be completely void of distractions.

The dropship made a smooth right turn and veered towards the floating mass that was their destination. Jerome suppressed a shudder when the cockpit's forward viewport completely filled with the large green chunk of ice and rock. Up until now he had not realized that sheer size of the thing, and some of the smaller floating satellites were big enough to pound the tiny dropship to dust. What added to the uneasiness was the green dust cloud that swirled around the large object, thickening at the rear, right in their path to _Tradewind_.

Confidently, the pilot kicked in the thrusters and resituated herself in her seat, getting as comfortable as possible before the evasive maneuvers. "Stay loose. There's a lot of debris out here," she said into the comm.

"Copy," came the reply from the other two pilots.

Jerome smirked at the coolness of their response. Whether the rumors about pilots being arrogant and cocky were true, they still knew when to buckle down and focus. _Well, most of them_. In his mind's eye he could also picture Anders taking up the reins as the backseat driver in Alice's dropship. He reckoned the female Spartan's quiet display of fearlessness would rub off on the Professor and set a lady-like example, but he just as soon preferred not having an incessant instructional commentary on the matters of piloting in his own ship.

The dropship took a winding path through the outer edges of the mist, curling up and over the larger chunks of rock and sometimes dipping below the rolling forms. Jerome began to hear particles of dust and fist-size portions of rock ding off the outer hull of their ship, and he winced as a louder impact hit close to his head. The cloud of green dust started to thicken to the point of hindering visibility and Jerome cycled through a few visual filters in his HUD to better his vision. He settled on one that relied on heat mapping, but soon found it to be useless with the outer environment. Switching his visor back to normal, he felt as if they were flying through an emerald sandstorm rather than attempting to land on an asteroid.

But the pilot was good. Better than good. When her instruments failed to detect incoming objects, she flew on instinct, wit, and guts. _Maybe the stereotype of pilots being arrogant has some merit_.

The dropship began to shake violently and a few marines in the back moaned at the sickening jostling. Jerome forced himself to relax. In these situations when he could not directly control his fate, he knew getting frustrated did nothing to improve his circumstances. Though the anxiousness was still there.

Then just like turning a faucet off, the mist evaporated and they were through the worst of it. The friction of dust against their hull died down as they entered the thin atmosphere of the asteroid. Jerome knew the surface would be as inhospitable as space itself, but he was hoping there was a decent amount of gravity to keep the dropships from floating away, once they had landed.

Out of the left corner of his visor, he saw another dropship blast through the dust cloud and level out with his own. It was a moment later before the third ship appeared on their right, completely inverted but intact. "Form up and report," the female pilot ordered.

"Fox Two, here. Got a little cooked but we're okay."

"One, Three. Took a hard hit in the portside steering vain. Loss of 40% maneuverability. No hull breaches."

In front of him, the pilot swore under her breath. "Once we're dirt side, we'll see what we can fix." She steered the dropship in a lazy arc down towards the waypoint flashing at her from the sensor board, but the ship's forward lights shining into the near distance were not yet close enough to spot _Tradewind_. As a precaution, she slowed the dropship to half-thrust.

Jerome waited patiently in his seat, counting down the meters to the waypoint. The gloom of the back end of the asteroid was just as eerie as the green dust that surrounded it, and he couldn't see any better for the distance they had covered in almost a full minute.

"See anything?" Fox Two asked over the comm.

Before the female pilot could answer, a sharp, cornered angle rose up into view. "All stop!" she yelled, and matched action with words by pulling the throttle all the way back. The engines reversed thrust and the ship hovered precariously close before the port stern of _Tradewind_. "That was close," the pilot muttered admittedly.

Jerome sneaked a peek at the waypoint readout and was confused to see it oscillating between all nines and all eights. "Sensors must be having a fit," he offered as politely as possible.

"Magnetic distortion," she replied. "There must be pockets of it everywhere." She keyed the comm. "Two, Three, form up on me. Let's find a section of the upper hull we can latch on to."

He leaned forward and placed his left hand on her shoulder. "Preferably a spot where there's sealed bulkheads," Jerome mentioned, pointing a thumb back at the marines.

"Right."

Jerome meant it as a joke— albeit, a weak one— but the pilot either ignored the humor or was still frazzled from the near miss.

The pilot pulled up the schematic of _Tradewind_ that Serina had provided for each ship and pointed to a flashing, circular outline just forward of the bulky engines. A small information window opened and it read: Emergency Ventral Aft Hatch. She kept her hand poised over the readout for a moment, contemplating her next decision. Within two more breaths, she straightened up and signaled the other two dropships. "Hold up here. I'll offload my team first. Then Two, then Three."

Jerome unfastened his harness and stood up, even as the pilot lowered the ship to the hull of _Tradewind_. "What about your wingman's condition? It isn't quite the best environment to administer repairs out there."

She rotated the ship and initialized the docking collar sequence. A few muffled thumps resounded through the hull of the dropship as the boarding device was locked in place. The pilot turned her head to the right and pointed to a section of _Tradewind_'s fuselage on the schematic display. "Tell you what, Spartan. If you manage to get their starboard docking bay functional and our ships can land there, I'll call it even for getting you here safe and sound."

Jerome nodded. "Deal." Though he had no guarantees, there was a large portion of him that knew he could get the docking bay open and usable. Call it determination, pride, or ego; he didn't care.

He snorted to himself. _Maybe Spartans are just as egotistical as pilots are_.

But then another thought occurred to him, and he knew he had someone that he could "delegate" the request to. He smiled at the upcoming conversation.

* * *

Ellen Anders stepped off the last rung of the ladder that ushered the team from Fox Three to the interior of _Tradewind_ and sighed. She had been through numerous shuttle transfers from ship to surface aboard Pelicans and other vessels, but never had she experienced such a frightful, bone-jarring ride through the crumbling remains of a comet. She shook her hands and flexed them to return proper blood flow after holding her restraints for all she was worth. Ellen would never tell the others how scared she had been, and she hoped she had masked her fear well enough.

The few snickers coming from a circle of marines told her it was a false hope.

_I thought we were going to crash when that fragment hit our left steering vain_. Luckily she didn't scream outright. _At least I don't think I did_ . . .

"Professor."

Ellen spun around to find the female Spartan standing before her, and nearly took a step backward. _Nearly_. "Yes?"

Without warning, the overhead glow from the dropship vanished, plunging them into darkness, and on cue, the marines flicked on their flashlights mounted to their weapons.

"Ma'am, 092 would like to see you other there," the Spartan said, pointing to a group clustered against a wall. The light from the tip or her assault rifle illuminated a clear path to them.

"Thank you," Anders replied curtly. She pulled out a glowrod and thumbed it on. The soft blue light played over the dusty surface of the ground and it was then that Ellen realized how stale the air was. It was definitely breathable, just left a nasty taste in one's mouth. She played the light over to her left then right, mentally measuring the distance to the walls and finding the place they had landed far from spacious.

The "path" that the Spartan had directed was really the only way to reach 092 in the narrow confines of the room they had found themselves in. "Sir?" she announced into the small group of six, nestled against what she now recognized as a sturdy-looking blast door.

The marines parted as the Spartan leader came out of his crouch, holding a datapad. "Try it now," he said to a marine at the door's release panel.

With a stuttered cough, the door retracted into the ceiling and the squad of marines filed through into the dimly lit room beyond.

Anders returned her attention back to the Spartan who was still standing there, but his weapon was now drawn and the datapad was nowhere in site. "You wanted to see me?" she tried again, this time failing to keep the annoyance from her tone.

He nodded and waved a hand over his head, signaling for the others to move on ahead. 092 looked back down at Anders and gestured with a nod of his head for her to follow. He led both of them inside the next room and moved off to the left so the others could enter without hindrance. "I have a task for you."

Ellen pursed her lips and tilted her head at an angle. "Excuse me?" _Doesn't he know I have an important job to do involving getting us back home?_

"The dropship that you rode in on, Fox Three, needs to exact repairs. The starboard docking bay should still be intact and I need you to get it open and running again."

"With all due respect, I need to examine the FTL drive. Without it we can't make it back home," she murmured with her arms folded across her chest.

"We can make it back home, just not as fast as everyone likes." 092 squared his shoulders. "And to put it bluntly, until we get Fox Three repaired, _we_ are not going anywhere off this rock. To me, that takes priority."

Ellen was about to protest, but reviewed the Spartan's use of the word "we" and realized it didn't necessarily include her. _How noble_. She shuffled her feet, looking for some sort of comeback, but came up short. "Who's coming with me?" she asked instead.

"I am," the female Spartan announced from behind Anders.

Ellen closed her eyes and let the sudden rush of adrenaline from being rudely surprised subside.

"130 will be your escort, along with the squad she brought," the male Spartan informed her.

_Wonderful. My own personal scare tactic_. She frowned. "What about the rest of you?"

092 shrugged. "We're going to secure the ship's auxiliary bridge. Our initial scans show no signs of life in the general vicinity, so considering everyone else could be in Cryo, we should find at least one soul down there, calling out to the _Spirit of Fire_."

The Professor snorted. "Well, maybe don't tell them their rescue party is technically in need of rescue as well," she said sarcastically. Ellen pulled out her datapad and tapped the screen. "You want to send me the coordinates of the docking bay or should I just start walking in the general direction?"

The two Spartans exchanged glances, and then the leader pulled out his own datapad and transmitted the floor plans. "Be careful. The portions of this ship above the surface appear to be intact, but there's no telling what may lie below the surface."

_How very foreboding_. Ellen turned to the female Spartan who had already secured her own datapad back in place against her armor. "Ma'am," Ellen prompted, giving a slight nod of the head.

"Ma'am," the female Spartan echoed. She turned and signaled the six marines walking into the room. "On me. We have our objective."

Ellen sighed and wondered how Sgt. Forge would have handled the situation_. He probably would have done the same_, she conceded. _But at least _he_ could be humorously charming . . . from time to time_. She sighed again, this time internally, and realized how much she missed John.

* * *

_Tradewind_ felt more like a ghost ship than it did a lifeboat, as Jerome walked the darkened halls of the ship. Almost all emergency floodlights had burnt out and the few glowpanels still operable were flickered like an old motel vacancy sign. Jerome had noticed the marines in his squad wrinkle their noses at the mildew and mold, and some had donned on their rebreather masks. Still, others maintained the stern expression, wanting to look like a tough guy in the face of such a trivial thing.

Jerome glanced back over his shoulder to spot Douglas in the middle of the pack, looking around like some seasonal tourist. He turned his head back around and marched on ahead. Deep down, Jerome was starting to have second thoughts about sending Alice down with Anders and her squad. He wasn't second-guessing the female Spartan's ability, Alice is as good as they come, but knowing the docking bay was a wildcard held in Fate's hand, he wondered if he should have sent more of an escort.

He looked back at Douglas again and shook his head. _I couldn't really send him_. Jerome highly doubted that the Professor knew of the dispute between Forge and Douglas where they debated Doug's recommendation to fire on the Covenant ship that was carrying Anders, but it was better not to risk igniting a possibly incendiary situation.

Douglas caught his leader's eye and swiftly moved to the front of the group. "Update?" he asked warily. The Spartan knew something was up but kept his voice low enough that the following marines couldn't hear their conversation.

"Not really," Jerome hesitated. They continued to walk in silence for another few seconds before he properly answered. "I'm wondering if we should have sent either one of us with Alice. You know, for backup?"

Douglas turned his head and gave him sideways look. "You think the Professor is more than she can handle?"

Jerome laughed lightly. "In a certain way, I'm sure that could be true." He shook his head and sighed. "No, I'm thinking the docking bay being usable is a long-shot," he lied, masking the ice forming in his gut.

Douglas harrumphed. "You said so yourself, if the damaged dropship can be repaired here, it beats having to send an empty one back through that rocky maze to pick us up." He played an arm off Jerome's shoulder. "And Alice is a big girl. She can take care of herself."

"Right," he agreed.

Jerome turned his attention back to the long corridor they were walking down and heard a soft beep from up ahead. He raised a fist in the air and stopped everyone where they stood. It was then that he noticed the blue, upside-down triangle marking his waypoint to read "12 meters". With all his distracting thoughts, Jerome nearly walked right up on the auxiliary bridge without even noticing where he was. The beep came from the locking mechanism that was currently glowing red next to the bridge doors.

He turned around and waved a narrowed hand twice. The squads separated into two columns of six along each corridor wall. His motion tracker was still void of movement, but it didn't necessarily mean no one was there. Jerome nodded to Douglas and the two Spartans led their respective teams to the double doors of the auxiliary bridge.

The same marine that had helped with every other locked door was quickly by Jerome's side, keying an entry code to bring the doors open. He paused and raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we just knock?"

Jerome thought for a moment and then shook his head. "If they haven't responded to us hacking our way through the main corridor, then they most likely won't notice this either."

"Notice or care," Douglas added quietly.

The marine shrugged and returned to his datapad. "It'll just take a sec . . ."

"Stay sharp," Jerome ordered and set himself with his MA5B across his chest.

The doors slowly parted, the gears creaking from age, and revealed a circular room that descended several meters to the center, much like a miniature auditorium. A few consoles were still operable and lines of red text were scrolling over their screens, while others looked blown out or damaged beyond repair. Five wide viewscreens were arrayed along the far wall; all were awash in static.

And sitting in the captain's chair was a graying, weary looking man, gape-mouthed and staring at the two super soldiers. His eyes grew wider and his brow wrinkled even more. The old man spun his chair partway around and fumbled out of it. He rotated the chair to keep the back of it shielding him from the Spartans. He poked his head around the side, his eyes full of fear, and reeled back away. "Who . . . who are you?" he asked with a shaking voice.

Jerome frowned and exchanged a quick glance with Douglas. When he saw his fellow Spartan standing tall, clad in his MJOLNIR armor, he realized the reason for the old man's fright. In the modern-day military, seeing a Spartan would still be rare but most would cast them with a look of wonderment and awe. To someone that has been out of the UNSC loop for nearly 200 years . . . well, Jerome figured he properly responded in the same way a squad of Grunts do when their Elite commander has been slain.

"I am Spartan 092, and this is 042. We are with the UNSC _Spirit of Fire_ and are here in response to your hails." Jerome and Douglas took a few steps forward to allow the marines to file into the room. "We are not here to harm you," Jerome continued, trying to defuse the tension in the man's eyes.

Once the older man caught sight of the marines, and more directly their UNSC badges emblazoned on their sleeves, his posture slacked and he heaved himself up off the ground. He tossed an antiquated pistol into the command chair and raised his hands into his sobbing face.

Jerome waved the team's medic over and got his first real look at a _Tradewind_ survivor. His long gray hair had been tied in a loose knot, and his beard looked to be somewhat trimmed but still covered his throat and the upper portion of his worn tunic. The sleeves of his jacket were tattered and torn, along with the legs of his pants. His feet were bare, leaving an open view of grimy toes. He reminded Jerome more of a sea-faring, shipwrecked castaway than of a UNSC crewmember.

When the medic reached him, the old man lowered himself into the chair and leaned his head back against the headrest. With gloved hands, the medic ran a scanner over the man's body and offered words of comfort. "It's okay. You're safe now."

The man dried his eyes and sniffed. "Where did you come from?" he asked, his voice still quivering.

The medic turned his head and nodded to the Spartans to let them handle the questioning. Though he held up a hand to caution them to go easy.

Jerome and Douglas made their way through the winding maze of consoles to the central commander chair. Jerome locked his assault rifle behind his back and looked down at the old man. "We're from the UNSC vessel the _Spirit of Fire_," he repeated. "We're here to help you, but we do have some questions as I imagine you do as well."

"_Spirit of Fire_?" the man asked with a raise eyebrow. "Never heard of it. Must have been commissioned after we set off on this . . . this suicide mission," he bit off the last part of his statement with a bodily tremor.

"What's your name, Sir?" Douglas asked quickly, hoping to forestall a rant.

"Edwin Ferguson."

"Are you the captain?" Jerome inquired.

"Acting-Captain," Edwin clarified. "Captain Leonard was killed during impact." He looked down to where the medic was examining his right leg. "I took some shrapnel just below the knee, but managed to seal the wound without infection. That was some time ago. I wonder how long it has been . . ." He trailed off and looked back up to the Spartan. ". What is the date, by the way?"

Jerome was about to rattle off the current date, but paused when he looked into Edwin's cold blue eyes. He wasn't sure if the man would go into a catatonic state when given the truth, so he patted him on the shoulder instead. "It has been long enough."

Edwin sighed and nodded. "Indeed."

"Are there any other survivors?" Douglas asked.

"A few. They're in our only functional Cryo Room, though it has been some time since any of them has been thawed." Edwin winced and nearly doubled over in the chair, moaning as he did.

The medic steadied Edwin's shoulder and eased him back to a sitting position. "His nervous system must be going," he explained to Jerome by whispering. "At his age and if he's been in and out of a first-gen Cryo, I can't image the pain he's gone through."

Jerome nodded to the medic and knelt down to face Edwin. "You're going to be alright. We'll get you and the rest of your crew off this rock and our medical staff can treat you."

"How many are left?" Douglas asked quietly.

"Including me . . . twenty."

Jerome suppressed a whistle_. Twenty survivors out of a possible hundred or so_. He nodded to Edwin and stood up, activating his comm. "Alice, we need that starboard docking bay working as soon as possible. We have twenty passengers that will need evac and we need all three dropships to ferry them over to the _Spirit of Fire_."

"No!"

Jerome looked down to find Edwin with a look of horror on his face. "What?"

"Don't access that docking bay," he uttered. "It's where we put the Object."

"What Object?"

"Please, don't let them near it!" Edwin pleaded to Jerome, reaching out to grab his forearm. "It's the reason we're here, shipwrecked on this asteroid."

Jerome pursed his lips and activated his transmitter again. "Alice, Anders, you copy?"

But the only response was static coming through the comm.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Ellen inhaled another taste of stale recycled air from her rebreather and studied the panel once more. Their small group of eight had trekked through a fairly normal-looking portion of the ship to reach their current location. The halls connecting to the main corridor had been symmetrically laid out, giving them a straight shot to the outer room of the bay. From what Ellen noticed, this section of _Tradewind_ housed the many sensory nodes and storage equipment that gave the vessel the title of a "mapping" ship. Some of the technology looked familiar while most of the equipment was too big and bulky to still be considered useful . . . at least to Anders.

The old electronics of _Tradewind_'s external docking bay terminal were proving to be most difficult with which to interface. All of the capacitors had lost their charge and some circuit boards had been completely fried. Her only hope in getting the Docking Bay functional was to get the pressure equalizers to start doing what they do best, but at the moment, the access panel was almost as stubborn as Alice was impatient. _Do Spartans ever appreciate the work scientists do?_

"Anything?" the female Spartan asked from over Ellen's shoulder.

Holding her tongue, she rolled her eyes. Ellen focused on the final lead of the transformer that connected to the power relays. _If I can just get enough juice through to this_ . . .

With a dissonant whine, the equalizers revved up to nominal output, and the program running on Anders' datapad screen gave a percentage readout of the proper oxygen levels along with a countdown to full pressurization. Ellen stood up and turned around to face Alice to give her an I-told-you-so look, but the Spartan was no longer facing the Professor.

"Form up," Alice ordered to the marines that had taken needless defensive positions at either end of the small anteroom. They formed up in a neat little pack at the main entrance to the Starboard Docking Bay. Alice glanced over at Anders who was purposely ignoring her command by staring at the datapad. "Fall in," the Spartan said.

Ellen's datapad beeped an affirmative that the pressure had been sealed beyond the primary and secondary blast doors that the team was now waiting to barge through. She gathered her gear and nodded to Alice. "After you," she said, as she pressed the door panel's release.

The first blast door slowly retracted into the ceiling but it got stuck when it was three quarters of the way up. The secondary blast doors parted with an efficient wheeze that belied their age. Alice propped a hand underneath the primary door and shoved it upward to lock it in place and permit easy travel. She walked forward and stepped into the Docking Bay. Ellen quickly came up beside the Spartan to survey her surroundings.

Like she figured, the Starboard Docking Bay was nothing more than a scaled-down hangar. The square-shaped bay rose up three levels and was wide enough to barely accompany two of their own dropships. Off to her left was a docking collar that could swing and extend out past _Tradewind_ and Ellen imagined that that was the main way the mapping ship's crew could disembark. On the other side was what looked like a collection of old mining tools and analysis equipment, covered in deteriorating black tarps.

Alice walked past Anders and keyed her comm. "Fox Three, we have the bay sealed. Come around and we'll open up the outer doors."

Ellen's own comm crackled with static and masked any response from the dropship. "They must be in another magnetic distortion pocket."

"Or _we're_ in one," Alice offered.

Anders turned to her left and spotted the outer doors controller. "Hold on," she requested to the Spartan. Ellen cleared away some of the dirt and grime caked on the controller's screen and found the activation switch. The console sprang to life and she nodded to Alice. "It'll just take a moment to warm up."

The Spartan gestured to the marines behind her. "Fan out, but stay close," she ordered, and they obediently complied.

Leaning over the console and drumming her fingers impatiently on the chassis, Ellen waited for the green light to tell her the hydraulics to the large bay doors had been primed. By the time it took the marines to take their positions the console beeped and Ellen hit the glowing green button.

The floor underneath her feet began to quake as the outer doors ponderously opened. Expecting a long, drawn out shriek from antiquated machinery, Ellen was amazed to find the bay doors open without as much as a whimper.

The group of eight was finally able to get an unhindered view of the asteroid's surface they had found themselves on. Since _Tradewind_ had crash-landed on the asteroid at an angle, they looked out at a tilted landscape, nearly thirty degrees worth. Being as they were closer to "ground level" the green haze hung like fog over the surface, but they could still see the sharp protrusions and rocky hills that marred the asteroid.

When the doors were almost completely open, Fox Three dipped down, almost unexpectedly, to maneuver into the docking bay proper. Its thrusters' high-pitch whine nearly deafened Ellen, but she winced till the pilot touched down and shut them off.

Alice moved toward the dropship with the marines in tow.

From her distance, Ellen couldn't really see the extent of the damage to Fox Three, but soon realized it was due to lack of light. She searched the consoles many switches and knobs and found the overhead lights switch. She thumbed it on and was rewarded with only half the main lights coming up to full brightness while the other remained unlit.

Alice gave her a thumb up and she nodded in return. _At least she appreciates my hard work_, Anders thought sarcastically.

Ellen let her eyes drift over to the right wall again, but this time found one of the tarps had been blown off its equipment by the dropship's thrusters. She frowned when she noticed that it wasn't an old piece of _Tradewind_'s mining gear, but something else entirely. Ignoring the rest of the group now craning their necks to examine Fox Three's smashed steering vane, Ellen walked over to the two-meter cubed, glass enclosure.

She pulled a sleeve over her hand and rubbed at the dusty surface. When she had cleared enough of the dirt away, she focused her glowrod into the container.

But the beam of light only illuminated a portion of a charred mass suspended within. Ellen growled and started examining the casing itself, looking for a release lever or hatch. She knew her curiosity might have seemed unwarranted, but deep down, the container seemed completely out of place in the bay.

Finally finding a passcoded keypad on the lower half of the cube, she quickly cracked the lock with her datapad. The keypad blurted out a short tone, but the air around it hissed, notifying her that the container's integrity had been compromised.

"Hey."

Ellen looked up over the glass cube to see a marine walking her way with Alice close behind.

"What are you doing?" the marine asked.

The keypad let out another tone, this time higher in pitch and longer, and the top lid of the container opened up. The lid retracted into the back of the cube and the four glass walls slowly lowered like drawbridges over a moat.

Ellen's eyes grew wider than she thought possible. She had never seen anything like it.

And from their rigid posture, she was sure neither marine nor Spartan had ever as well.

* * *

Jerome turned back around to face Edwin and forced himself to keep his voice under control. "What is this Object?"

Edwin shook his head absently. "We didn't know what it was. Just that it was emitting a faint burst of static when we found it in an asteroid field." He looked down at the floor. "We were traveling on the outskirts of a system when it first lit up. Thinking it was a forgotten UNSC probe, the Captain ordered it to be retrieved." Edwin shook his head again, this time with a look of pure disgust. "But it wasn't. It was something else entirely."

Jerome held up a hand to halt the other's explanation. "Is it a Covenant device?"

Edwin frowned. "Covenant?"

"He wouldn't know, Jerome," Douglas said quietly. He then nodded to the survivor. "Was it man-made?"

"Definitely not," Edwin replied with a snort.

Jerome tried his comm again but was met with the same static as before. He pointed to a marine close by. "Keep trying to reach 130's team." The soldier nodded and took a few steps away from the rest of his team, accessing his comm unit in haste.

"Well, what does it do?" Douglas asked.

Noticing his fellow Spartan's anxious tone, he knew Doug felt the same ice growing in his own stomach. _We need to hurry up this interrogation if we're going to make it to Alice in time. If it's not already too late_.

Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but shut it briefly. "I'm not entirely sure. Tomlesson, our chief engineer, looked it over and couldn't determine its origins, but it did look like it had been . . . attacked." He shrugged. "I guess the curiosity got the better of Tomlesson."

Jerome sighed. "Look, we don't need a full history lesson here; we just need to know what danger it possesses."

Exchanging glances from both Spartans, Edwin nodded. "When our engineer started examining it, he must have set it off. There was a huge electromagnetic pulse that temporarily crippled our ship, sending us on a reckless course back into the asteroid field." He opened his arms to encompass the room. "We crashed on this particular rock and have been careening into the wild black for . . . well, since 2230."

Douglas reached down to grip Edwin's shoulder. "How bad was the EMP?"

A frown tugged at the corner of the survivor's mouth. "Bad enough to bring down _Tradewind_. It totally wiped out our dumb AI we had on board."

Jerome's eyes darted to the right to stare Douglas square in the face. Of all their hope to find _Tradewind_ a useful piece of salvage, it was starting to look like it would usher in the end of their campaign. "Squad!" he belted, eliciting a twitch from Edwin.

Within two seconds the marines were before the central command chair. Jerome eyed them over before speaking. "You two," he said, pointing to a pair of soldiers at the end of the group. "You stay here with the medic. The rest of you, fall in line." He turned on his heel and started for the door.

"Whatever you do, don't touch that Object!" Edwin called out from over his shoulder.

Jerome gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

The two Spartans barged through the opening auxiliary bridge doors, leaving a dent on both. Jerome broke into a flat-out run, not really caring if the marines could keep up, and activated his comm. "_Spirit of Fire_, we have a situation down here. We have a possible EMP detonation in the making. I repeat, an EMP detonation."

A static reply was all he heard.

Douglas came into view on the right, pumping his arms as he ran. "Too much interference. Our comm units won't be able to penetrate that mess out there."

"No, but one of our dropships could," Jerome added between breaths. "If the Professor got the Starboard Docking Bay open then Fox Three should be in there."

"You think Anders would activate the Object?"

Jerome gave Douglas a sideways glare. "You know her catch-phrase: 'Nothing venture, nothing gained.' "

"You're right," Douglas admitted. "We still need to keep trying the comm. Maybe _something_ will get through."

Jerome nodded. "Be my guest." His nostrils flared and he pressed on.

* * *

"What did he say?" Captain Cutter asked Serina, as he clenched his hands over the terminal's sides.

"I'm not sure, Sir." Serina lowered her head in concentration. "I'll play back the transmission."

The recording wasn't any clearer than the first time and James pursed his lips. "See if you can clean any of that up." He looked up to see the wall-mounted display showing a slowly decaying image of the exterior of _Tradewind_ supplied by Fox One. "What's going on down there?"

"My guess would be that magnetic fields are constantly shifting on the asteroid," Serina suggested.

James turned back to the comm. "Fox One, are you able to contact any of our squads on board _Tradewind_?"

"Negative. The mapping ship's ablative hull is blocking any sensors I have." There was a pause over the comm, filled with increasing static. "Do you want to abort?" Fox One asked through the white noise.

Cutter frowned. _Tradewind_'s hull was designed to protect them from vast amounts of radiation. It was a useful feature for a mapping ship that tended to travel into hostile environments, but one that was currently doing more harm than good_. And this is one variable I overlooked_. He pounded a fist off the terminal, upset with himself for not catching this "minor" detail earlier, and straightened up. For now, all they had lost was communications, but the frantic, garbled hails from 042 were keeping his heart beating faster and faster.

He sighed. "Fox One, have Two return to the ventral hatch and see if he can link up with the ground team. You try to stay clear of those magnetic fields and remain in contact with us."

"Copy, Sir."

"Captain, I have managed to scrub some of the distortion from Spartan 042's transmissions."

"Play it," James said, folding his arms across his chest.

The comm crackled again, but this time sounding muffled and compressed. "_Spirit of _. . . uation . . . ere . . . possi . . . MP det . . . I rep . . . EMP . . . ation."

James shot Serina a look of horror. "EMP?!"

From across the bridge, the wall display suddenly flashed to black and the audio feed from Fox One vanished. Cutter spun around to face the floating rock outside the forward viewport and could see an enormous shockwave rippling outward.

And it was coming their way.

"Kill all power, Serina!"

"Sir, I— "

"Now! Do it now!" Cutter yelled, bracing himself against a bulkhead.

But his grip was of no use and the pounding force of the electromagnetic pulse pitched him backward. James hit his head hard on ground, jarring him.

As darkness enveloped the _Spirit of Fire_, Captain James Cutter could not be completely sure if he was blacking out or if Serina had complied with his order.

When James felt his consciousness fade, he realized that a third option existed. And if the EMP had indeed hit his ship while under full power . . . well, he didn't want to think of the worst case scenario.

* * *

Jerome had rounded the last corner when an invisible fist slammed right into his chest. All at once, his armor froze up, and with his momentum, he hit the Starboard Docking Bay anteroom wall rather hard. The impact with the wall, followed by the subsequent meeting with the floor, sent a bone-jarring vibration through his body. He cried out in pain as he finally came to a stop on his back. He could hear Douglas grunt as well but was unable to look past his own raised arms, locked in place.

He swore to himself. He had his armor ready to be shut off with a flick of a switch in preparation for the crippling pulse, but he was using the full capacities of his MJOLNIR during his desperate break for Anders and didn't accomplish either goal. Jerome knew his hopes of getting up and moving again would be riding on his squad getting to him, but a heavy clank of metal hitting the ground told him something else might take their place.

"Jerome? You okay?"

Spartan 092 could definitely hear Douglas, though it was through natural hearing and sounded rather muffled to him, but the blackness of his vision told him that the rest of the ship had suffered from the ill effects and the power grid was offline. "I'll live," he told his fellow Spartan, wincing at the throbbing in his left elbow and shoulder.

"Hold on."

A single light spouted into the darkness and made Jerome frown. "You're powered up?"

"Kind of," Douglas admitted, coming around to squat at Jerome's side. "I managed to shut down my main components, but I'm sure I didn't get everything off in time." He pulled out his datapad, found its screen completely black, and tossed against the wall like the useless piece of technology that it now was. "Well that rules out my first option. What about yours?"

"Check it," Jerome said, unable to move. "I always turn mine off after I'm done using it."

"How conservative of you," Jerome joked, though his tone of voice was one of light humor. He pulled out Jerome's datapad and turned it on. "Aha, got something." He entered an unseen command. "Standby."

"I can't really go anywhere," 092 said, tensing his muscles for the inevitable. His armor unlocked with a quiet hum and his arms fell down on his stomach nearly knocking the wind out of him. His heads-up display slowly wavering into existence but only glowed with half the intensity.

Douglas helped him up into a sitting position. "I don't know how much of your suit is functional, you'll have to have the Professor look at it, but you should be able to move in it, just not with the full acceleration you're used to."

Jerome eased himself off the ground and shook his head. "It's better than being immobile." He rotated his left shoulder and found the soreness still there but bearable. He pointed a thumb towards the blast doors a few paces down from where they were. "Let's hope Alice is okay." He started for the Docking Bay with Douglas close by.

"Here," 042 said, handing the abandoned assault rifle to his leader. "Just in case. We still don't know what that _thing_ is."

Squaring his shoulders, Jerome nodded and flicked on his own short-ranged lights attached to the sides of his helmet. Only one lit up and he sighed. Here they were, two Spartans about to encounter an unknown device of unfathomable power . . . and they had to do it in the dark.

Jerome was beginning to think that waking him from Cryo sleep that day was a bad idea.

* * *

Ellen Anders brought a hand to her forehead and could feel a smear of blood paste a few strands of hair to her skin. Her body ached badly and she moaned, but Ellen opened her eyes despite the desire to just lie there and rest. She was greeted by complete blackness and she realized the seriousness of her actions. _I had only touched that odd glyph that was etched into that thing's top. What harm could that have done?_ The marking was of a circle with asymmetrical shapes carved into it: a central strip that stopped about halfway down and two roughly half-circle shapes were at the bottom corners. _How could I have know what would happen?_

The voice of Dr. Halsey entered her thoughts_. "If the galaxy gives you a new mystery, examine it from all sides before attempting a hypothesis."_

Ellen snorted internally. _Maybe you were right, Doctor_. She felt the ground around her for the glowrod she had dropped, but found it drained of power. She pulled out her datapad and likewise discovered it useless. From those simple devices and the fact that the bay was void of illumination, she deduced that the shockwave the Object had emitted was an EMP.

_Great_. Ellen couldn't tell what had happened to the thing itself, but due to the fact that she was still alive, she figured it didn't explode on her and was still intact, though its state would have to be determined later.

She got herself up to her hands and knees, hoping her vision could adjust to the loss of light. Pain stabbed her eyes as a bright flash swept over her face.

"Professor?"

"I'm here," she said, shielding her eyes with a raise hand. "Who is that?"

"042, ma'am," the Spartan replied, waving his beam of light over the others sprawled out on the bay floor. "Alice?" he called out, his voice reverberating in the open space.

"I've got her," answered another voice.

Ellen looked up to see the big guy, 092, walking awkwardly towards the prone soldier. She searched her satchel and found an emergency flare used to mark landing zones for aerial pickup. She shrugged and slammed the bottom of the flare to the ground. The docking bay instantly lit up with the orange glow and she tossed the flare into the middle of where everyone was slowly coming to.

"Thanks," Jerome said, setting down his weapon and shifty his body to give him more light to look Alice over.

Anders felt sympathetic when she saw the female Spartan face down on the floor and started for her. "Do you have an operable datapad?" she asked.

"Here," 042 answered, tossing the device to her.

She caught it in a not-so-athletic, two-handed grasp. She accessed the program the Spartan already had up and keyed for a diagnostic on both 130 and 092. As the numbers scrolled across her screen, she breathed a sigh of relief that all of her files were saved on multiple copies back at her lab, seeing as her own datapad was now useless. While she did have a dozen computing devices, she especially liked the one she had brought and was sad it had met its demise.

The program finished and she keyed the sequence that would reset the MJOLNIR for all three Spartans. "Hold on. I wouldn't move for a few seconds," Ellen suggested. The three super soldiers complied and within three deep breaths, their armor was fully functional again. "You might need some calibration, but that should do for now."

092 nodded in appreciation as 042 continued to make his rounds helping the others to their feet.

Ellen looked out to the disoriented marines slowly becoming mobile again and noticed the light at her feet turn a shade of green. She frowned and slowly turned around . . .

The Object that she had previously discarded as nonfunctional was now hovering over its collapsed container. Its large, glowing blue eye was almost bright enough to cast a glare that would make further examination impossible, but Ellen was able to make out the round-edged cube outline. It turned to the left then right, perhaps studying its whereabouts, and then faced Anders again.

Ellen gasped but was unable to make any word form on her tongue. She took a step backward and the Object floated forward at walking speed.

"Ah, a Reclaimer!" it exclaimed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jerome bolt upright. "Anders, get away from that thing!" he shouted, quick-drawing his pistol.

"I am 49 Contrite Variant, the Monitor of installation 03 and of Research Facility B-23," it announced with pride and in perfect English. "How very convenient that you are here to assist. We have much to do."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Captain's eyes popped open but immediately winced as a light waved back and forth over his face. He brought his right hand up and swatted away the annoyance.

"He'll be fine. No signs of anything too serious, but we'll know more after we get a portable scanner up here."

"Good," came a voice to Cutter's left.

James tried to sit up and found helping hands at both sides. "Thanks," he said, catching his first real look at either person. The woman on his right was wearing a medical staff outfit and a smile that reassured James of his condition. The young man to his left still had a concerned look etched in his face but managed to bring the Captain up to his feet.

"How are you feeling?" asked the woman.

"Like I just got hit by a runaway bus on the beltway," James answered bluntly. His body ached and his head was pounding, but he was functional. He looked around the bridge and was surprised to see consoles and terminals all in their rebooting sequences. "Status?" he asked the young man.

"Engineer Bradley, Sir," he replied with a nod. "We're bringing our primary and secondary systems up now, and we hope to be at nominal power in a few minutes."

Cutter glanced out the forward viewport to see that their view of the asteroid had shifted to where they could only see the bottom portion of the floating mass. He knew ordering Serina to kill all power was a hastily laid plan, but the urgency in the Spartan's voice was more than enough to take the precaution. "As soon as Communications are back up, try to reach our ground teams." He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear more of the haze that fogged his mind. "Serina, get me Propulsion first on the priority list. We don't want to be drifting too close to the asteroid."

Beside him, Bradley cleared his throat and lowered his head slightly. "Um, Sir. We can't get Serina back up."

"What?" James took two steps forward before needing the added support from the engineer.

"She _did_ successfully shut down the power to the _Spirit of Fire_, but she decided to keep herself on standby, rather than a full shutdown."

_Why would she do that?_ James then realized Serina might not have wanted to wait for a tech specialist to start her back up and opted for flipping the switch herself. _Or she was just being her stubborn self and wasn't too concerned with the validity of Jerome's statement_. And as he looked out at the tumbling asteroid, he figured the giant rock had amplified the EMP, using it as a conductor. Serina would have trusted in the magnetic shielding that encased the outer hull of the _Spirit of Fire_, but with the added power . . . "What is the time frame on getting her functional again?"

"Unknown," Bradley sighed. "We can pull a few techs off other duties to work on her, but we still can't give you a reliable estimate."

James pursed his lips. "No, get Propulsion first then Communications." He placed a hand over the pedestal Serina used and found the device uncomfortably cold. "And have First Battalion suit up. There's no telling what could happen next down there, and until we do, I want drop-pods ready for launch."

* * *

Jerome kept his aim steady as he tracked the floating object. "Hold it right there!" he shouted.

The Monitor quickly turned to face him but did not advance. "There is no need for panic. Weapon fire is strictly against regulation in this facility." Contrite Variant appeared to look Jerome up and down. "And may I suggest upgrading your combat skin? Your current model only scans between a Class-One and Class-Two, and I assure you, the work involved will require a more . . . advanced suit."

Beside Jerome, Alice sat up, took in the whole scene with one quick glance, and grabbed her MA5B, aiming at what her fellow Spartan saw as a threat. "What is that?" she demanded.

"I am the Monitor of this installation . . . though, I'm sorry to say that it has changed considerably," Contrite Variant answered slowly, doing a complete rotation and coming to a stop to stare back at Jerome. "I do apologize; it seems I am mistaken as to our whereabouts."

"This is the UNSC vessel _Tradewind_," Anders said with a curious tone.

"Then how did I . . ."

Jerome sighed and lowered his weapon slightly. "You were found by the crew of this ship nearly 200 years ago in an asteroid field." He looked over at Anders who did her best to hide the shock from her face, but her rigid posture gave her away. "When the Chief Engineer first examined you, there was a crippling, electromagnetic pulse that disabled this ship and sent it off on a wild vector," he said in an accusing tone towards the Professor.

The Monitor never missed a beat. "Well then, we must be on our way back to the Research Facility. A site that has been dormant for that long must be in desperate need of maintenance."

"Hold on there," Jerome said with a raised hand. "We're not going anywhere. We have personnel we need to extract and to put it bluntly, we don't know what you are."

Contrite Variant seemed to hiss in frustration. "I am the Monitor of Installation 03 and the-"

"Yes, we know," Anders interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. "What Spartan 092 is trying to convey is that we are currently involved in a rescue mission. Anything else is considered a secondary objective," she said with an undertone of bitterness.

"I assure you, this is of primary importance," the Monitor insisted. "And might I add that the incorporation of numeric identification to a Reclaimer is most interesting. It seems my Makers were wise in their choice."

That comment nearly sent Jerome rocking back on his heels. "What 'Makers'?"

The Monitor dipped slightly in height, which Jerome interpreted as a mechanical shrug. "Why, the Forerunners, of course."

Jerome shot the Professor a glance who in turn frowned at the machine's comment. "Who are the Forerunners?" he asked with a renewed interest.

"I'm sorry to say they have left, for I have not heard from them in millennia." Contrite Variant started pacing back and forth. "The Infection was a most persistent adversary, and the Installations _were _a last resort." The Monitor perked up and came closer to the two Spartans. "But I am pleased to inform you, Reclaimers, that my research on the Flood has finally yielded positive results."

"What?" Jerome and Alice exclaimed in unison.

Anders slowly walked over to the two Spartans, keeping her eyes fixed on the floating machine, and she gestured for Jerome to hand her his datapad. "This 'Infection' . . . what did it look like?"

"The Flood come in various stages and types, most commonly found to-"

"Does it look like this?" Anders asked, finally cycling through the various static images cached in the datapad's memory. She held up the screen that displayed a small, bulbous body with multiple tentacles used for mobility.

Contrite Variant froze as he looked at the datapad. "Why . . . yes. That is an _infection form_." He looked back up at the others. "Where did you encounter these specimens?"

_Specimens?_ _Why would anyone want to collect those things for observation?_ Jerome gave the Professor a warning stare not to say anything that might give this unknown robot any key information.

Anders turned to fully face Jerome. "Sir, we found some common ground here. Obviously this Monitor knows what we have faced," she said in a lowered voice. "This could open up a wealth of information."

Behind them, Douglas snorted. "Bag 'em and tag 'em. This bucket of bolts has just caused us a world of trouble, and we can't play 20 Questions with it while we piddle around here."

"Good point," Alice chimed in. "For all we know this is a Covenant AI."

The Professor's eyebrows met together in a condescending expression. "I highly doubt that."

"What is this 'Covenant'?" the Monitor asked inquisitively.

"A coalition of alien races that is set on destroying Humanity," Anders answered before either Spartan could interrupt. "Are they these Forerunners?"

"Absolutely not!" Contrite Variant waggled to either side. "That is most disturbing. Why would they want to exterminate the Reclaimers?"

"Who knows," Douglas said with disinterest. He took a position beside Jerome and nodded to the fellow Spartan. "Everyone's okay, just shaken up." He motioned to the Monitor with the end of his rifle. "What do you want to do with this?"

Jerome sighed. With his misgivings and the fact that this Monitor caused an EMP to go off, this was quickly turning into a nightmare. Contrite Variant did not currently appear to be hostile and his apparent lack of information on the Covenant was leaning Jerome to believe that the Monitor was not in league with the aliens . . . _But priorities need to be issued_. "First, we communicate with the _Spirit of Fire_, see if we can get a hold of Captain Cutter." He looked over at the Professor. "Anders, go help get Fox Three's comm unit up and running."

She stood there defiant and worked her jaw in anger for a few seconds, silently protesting his orders. "Fine, but what are we going to do about the Monitor?"

"If you are in need of assistance, I am more than willing to help, Reclaimer."

"No, you're staying put," Jerome said, waving the now-coherent marines over to his position. "Once we speak with our commander, we'll discuss your fate."

"Then please, hurry. I will not interfere," the Monitor replied, obviously not picking up on the seriousness of the situation.

Jerome couldn't tell with whom he was more mad: the Professor, for getting them into this mess; or the Monitor for being the source of their predicament. Either way, it wouldn't do any good to stay upset. He looked back at the marines. "Keep an eye on him," he ordered, as he escorted the Professor to the dropship.

* * *

Corporal Nathan Parker rotated his shoulder experimentally, testing his range of motion. Like most soldiers stationed in the barracks, he was totally unprepared for the sudden lack of gravity when the _Spirit of Fire_ lost power and sent him crashing into a bulkhead in complete darkness. He was still getting over the after-effect of grogginess from the cryo-pod and his aching right shoulder didn't help his mood at all.

He figured after the ordeal with getting them off that shield world, as everyone had called it, that he was due for a little rest and relaxation. _It is only proper for an ODST who helped the glamorous ONI Professor to safety to deserve such a respite_. But the abruptness of the events over the last few hours had omitted all of his hopes. Though rumors were running that Anders was going to fix the FTL drive, he had his reservations about her skill- or decision making, for that matter.

He jammed another four-round clip into his ammo sling and started on securing his SRS Sniper Rifle into its housing in his drop-pod. He wasn't sure what they would encounter on that asteroid, but he was a marksman and a UNSC sniper never went anywhere without an SRS. He pulled the latches up and locked his long-barrel weapon in place.

"Parker, you set?"

Nathan turned to his head to the left and nodded to a fellow corporal. "Just loading up the last of it, Toril."

She offered him a smirk. "That's 'Holmen' to you _and_ the rest of your squad." She kept her deep blue eyes on his till he felt the awkward tension dissolve and she shook her head. "You Bravo Boys need to lighten up."

"Hey, we're as jovial as the next group," Nathan laughed, failing miserably to keep the uneasiness from his tone. Given Toril's unnatural rank-vaulting ability, she was quickly on her way to becoming an officer. And that made her almost as intimidating as a Spartan responding to a domestic disturbance. _Maybe more_.

Toril returned to examining her own pod with folded arms. Her SMG and pistol were still readily at her right and left sides respectively, locked against her armor, and it looked to Nathan as if she was contemplating the proper use of the weapon holder next to her seat. "How do you boys do this?" she asked with her pleasant Scandinavian accent.

Smiling, more to himself than outwardly, he walked over to her pod and adjusted the railing of her weapon holder to fit the SMG on her right hip. "It will latch in place just fine, but sometimes they're a pain to pull out." Off to Toril's left, farther down the line of drop-pods, another ODST snickered at his last statement, and Nathan rolled his eyes.

But she didn't catch Nathan's disregard for the play on words and gave him a frown full of narrowing blond eyebrows. "Thanks," she said with disgust, and shoved her SMG into the slot with enough force to rattle her drop-pod. Toril picked up her dufflebag, spun on her heal, and let out a sigh. "I'll be in the ready room, waiting for the green light."

Nathan opened his mouth to explain himself, but she was gone through the door before he could muster a proper response. He lowered his head in defeat. _So much for welcoming the new girl_. Toril Holmen was an interesting case to Nathan. Despite the overly-macho attitude she exuded, Toril still carried herself with a quiet grace that screamed femininity. She was almost never seen without wearing her helmet or a cap that she would keep low on her brow, always hiding her long golden locks that most women would kill for.

She was new to being an ODST, transferring from a local garrison on Arcadia right into the ranks of those that fought the Covenant there, and she had a lot to learn. But the fact that Nathan Parker's commanding officer had transferred her into Bravo Squad meant that people more versed that he was at evals did it for a reason. Toril was to be given no special treatment and she made it a point to enforce that order on her own. But Nathan couldn't help but feel burdened to help her adjust.

A few months ago, _he_ was considered the "new guy" and everyone in Bravo made damn sure he knew it. He served just two years in the Marines before his application into the Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Division was accepted. Since Nathan was raised on a farm on Harvest, he had been handling rifles all his life, and when it came time to fill the void of a recently-fallen sniper in 2nd Platoon, he landed the position.

His concern for Toril Holmen was rooted in the fact that she might not fully comprehend the nature of an ODST. "Feet first into Hell" was more than just a slogan; it was real life. While her no-holes-barred attitude had shaped her into a soldier, it would be the cooperation and reliance on her squadmates that got her through the engagement. _And her hardened exterior isn't doing much to help the situation_.

"Down in flames?" asked the ODST that had snickered earlier.

Parker gave him a stiff glare. "It's not like that."

"Sure. You keep on telling yourself that, and I'll go see if she needs some . . . comforting." The ODST gave a casual salute and followed in Toril's wake.

Nathan just shook his head and returned to packing his pod. He had enough to worry about than to hit on the lone female in Prep Room B. _Still_ . . . He knew romantic involvements within the ranks was a bad idea and mostly resulted in permanent postings in rural outposts on outer colony worlds. But he couldn't deny that ache in his chest when he _did_ see her without headgear. Her perfect complexion, her subtle use of makeup around her beautiful blue eyes, the way her shimmering blond hair collected over one shoulder to help frame her lovely face . . .

Parker closed his eyes and sighed, slightly annoyed at his daydreaming. _Maybe it_ is _"like that"._

* * *

Ellen Anders reseated the power coupling and stood up from her crouch. "That should do it," she informed both the pilot and Spartan 092. She activated the backup battery and the pilot's console flickered to life. "The antenna might need calibrated, but for now, the comm's all yours," she said to the Spartan.

"Thank you," Jerome replied, stepping past her to plop down in the pilot's seat.

As 092 attempted to hail the _Spirit of Fire_, Anders slipped out the rear of the dropship, disappearing into the darkness enveloping the docking bay. Sure, she could fix a radio in record time, but without the proper frequency alignment, it was just a glorified karaoke machine set to the wonderful tones of white noise.

_And that little adjustment will have to wait just a little longer_. She needed to buy some time to figure out what Contrite Variant's origins really were, and a dysfunctional comm was a decent down payment.

Ellen spotted the other two Spartans conversing with two new squads of marines that had just entered the docking bay, and she started for the Monitor. She kept her pace even and quiet, hoping to mask her approach, but a marine waved a light over at her and she held up a hand to shield her eyes. "Easy, soldier. I'm just going to ask this thing some questions," she explained.

If anything, the marine looked as if he took offense at her "soldier" remark, but he lowered his weapon nonetheless.

She moved past the sentry line of marines and the Monitor lowered itself to stare Anders directly in the face. Ellen quickly held up a hand to forestall a possible rant by the machine and leaned in closer. "The installation you referred to earlier . . . what kind of research did you oversee?"

"Which site? Installation 03 or Research Facility B-23?"

"B-23," Ellen clarified.

"The facility was used primarily to contain and study the Flood using new and various techniques. Genetic decoding, cell division, flash freezing, mutation; all of this was carried out over the initial window I was given," Contrite Variant said.

Ellen looked down at the docking bay floor, washed in the soft blue glow of the Monitor's eye. As far as she knew, no one had ever encountered the alien race the Monitor identified as _The Flood_, and up until a few minutes ago, she was unsure whether or not they were indigenous to the shield world. As it turned out, these "Forerunners" had been experimenting on them for thousands of years. "Wait, earlier you mention millennia. How old are you?"

Contrite Variant remained still for a moment before answering. "It is impossible to know for certain. I have just recently been reactivated from Standby, and I've been unable to locate my current whereabouts."

"Can you give me an approximation?" she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder for signs of anyone paying too close attention.

"I was constructed approximately 103,700 years ago," the Monitor answered. "Though, there is a gap in my memory dating back shortly after my breakthrough with the Flood research some 22,000 years ago."

That information rocked Anders back on her heels. Contrite Variant was speaking as if these measures of time were of little significance, and she knew she was dealing with something truly ancient. "Look are you sure your calculations are correct?"

"Without a stellar-bearing, I am unable to calibrate my internal clock, but the margin of error is plus or minus 300 years."

Then another thought occurred to Ellen. If the crew of _Tradewind_ said they had found this Monitor in an asteroid field in its current, mangled state, then the possibility of it being extra-galactic could not be fully discounted. "Where is B-23? Is it close by?"

"Again, without proper bearings, I am unable to fully orient myself." Contrite Variant dipped lowered and kept his voice soft. "But if I were to bring this ship up to nominal functionality, I could use sensor data to-"

"Anders!"

Ellen spun around to see Jerome stalking out of the dropship, followed by the pilot. Both looked decidedly angry in their gait. _Apparently my diversion didn't last too long_. "Problem?"

Spartan 092 marched past the semi-circle of marines to stand before her. "Why didn't you align the frequency coupler before I started hailing the Captain?" He pointed a finger towards the Monitor. "And what have you been discussion with this thing? Something to compromise mission integrity?"

"On the contrary, Reclaimer," Contrite Variant interjected. "I was about to recommend that I examine this ship for possible restoration of power. While the electrical design seems a bit archaic, I believe I can access and fix most systems in a matter of moments."

Without a second thought, the Spartan nodded. "Noted." Anders could almost feel his gaze burn through his visor at her. "And you, Professor, need to get that comm fixed _now_."

Anders sighed and started for the dropship again. _So much for finding the easy way out_. Ellen never sought out to make herself problematic, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. Even if insubordination was a possible outcome.

"So will I be looking over the nearest terminal?" Contrite Variant asked.

"Negative," 092 murmured and turned to follow Anders back to the dropship.

* * *

"All power has been restored to the main decks, Sir."

James Cutter nodded to the engineer in appreciation. "An hour before your estimates. Impressive."

Bradley shook his head, deflecting the praise. "My team is the best there is, but we're still working on bring Serina back online as well as the few remaining decks."

"I trust you'll do everything you can. Thank you," he said with a nod. Taking a seat in his command chair, James looked over his personal terminal to find it functional again and he allowed himself a smile. The comm unit diagnostic was still showing in the red and he was about to ask for an estimation on the repair time when the overhead speakers crackled to life.

"_Spirit of Fire_, this is Spartan 092. Do you copy?"

Cutter hastily keyed the comm. "We're here, 092. What's your status?"

"All ground teams accounted for, but we still can't raise Fox One over the comm. If we get _Tradewind'_s sensors up and running, we could try to find her."

_Our own sensors won't be able to pierce that gloom down there_. "See to it then." James' brow furrowed. "092, what the hell caused that EMP?"

There was a moment of static over the comm before Jerome continued. "Um, it's difficult to explain, Sir. This mapping ship found an object that, when activated, sent out a crippling wave of energy that caused _Tradewind _to crash-land on this asteroid and set off on its current vector." The Spartan sighed. "Needless to say, Anders found the object and inadvertently activated it."

James leaned back in his chair, suppressing a whistle. The fact that this "object's" pulse managed to break through most of the _Spirit of Fire_'s magnetic shielding was very unsettling. Coupled with the information that _Tradewind_ had found it during their mapping mission made his stomach turn frigid. "Are there any signs that this could be a Covenant device?"

"Not initially, Sir. But it is . . . interacting with us."

Frowning, James straightened up. "What do you mean?"

"The Object appears to be a self-containing artificial intelligence like none of us have ever seen. When we asked it about the Covenant it claim ignorance on the subject." Jerome cleared his throat. "It calls itself 49 Contrite Variant, a so-called Monitor of installations."

James stared at the comm, as if looking at it would provide him with more insight. He signaled an ensign to start a data search on the name the Object provided, but he knew that if any information was in the archives, the Professor would most likely already know what it was. "Is there any risk that this thing could go off again?"

There was a pause, as if Jerome was speaking with someone else before answering. "Highly unlikely. It says the EMP burst was a result of coming out of standby."

The ensign looked up from his console and shook his head, informing the Captain that his search had drawn a blank.

Sighing to himself, James rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. So far, he had only lost Fox One and Serina, but both were temporary. _Hopefully_. And on top of all that had pushed them back several steps, they still needed to secure _Tradewind_ and search for survivors. He pursed his lips and breathed heavily through his nostrils. "Spartan, continue with the ship-wide search for survivors. Have Anders help with getting the sensors repaired so you can find Fox One."

"And what about the AI, Sir?"

James inclined his head contemplatively. "Leave it be, for now. The Professor can oversee its handling after _everyone_ is accounted for. Understood?"

There was another pause over the comm, and Cutter wasn't sure if Jerome was perturbed by his orders or if the Spartan was merely sinking in the information. "Yes, Captain. 092 out."

Keying off the comm, James sat still, making an ill attempt at quelling his stomach. But the ice was still there, lodged between his abdomen and his chest. He knew his fears were rightly founded, but it never did well for a crew to see their captain locked in a cage of anxiety.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Viln 'Rengum figured life could not get any more boring. He was stationed on the isolated listening outpost known as _Hydra's End_, an unoriginal title being as it was floating on the edge of the Hydra System. Viln absently watched the endless amount of sensor data scroll past his screen while resting his tired head on his hands. His workspace was high above the actual guts of the station, sitting on the relative top of the _Jjrahli_ fruit-shaped hull like a lonely watchman. He blew a sigh and leaned back in his chair, struggling to keep his eyes from closing.

Two days ago, a SpecOps Cruiser had arrived and docked with the station, sending a fresh buzz of excitement through the entirely Sangheili crew. Apart from the monthly frigate that would retrieve the data cores and supply _Hydra's End_ with new cores and supplies, no other ship in all the Covenant Fleet would have any reason to visit. And that made Viln hesitant to share in the gawking that the dozen other crewmembers bestowed upon the elegantly designed cruiser.

He suppressed a yawn and stood up to look out the tiny rectangular viewport conveniently cut out above his desk._ There it is, the_ Fantastic Something-or-Other, Viln thought bitterly. He never really cared for the Fleet's colorful, poetic vessel naming, and for all he figured the ship should have been called _Siphoner of Fuel_. The shipmaster had pretty much bullied his way into getting the crew of the station to top off his cruiser, citing a high-level priority due to the importance of his secret mission, and Viln had ordered his crew to comply as he retreated to the safety of his workstation.

After a day-long malfunction with two of the fuel lines, the transfer was almost complete and Viln was ready to see the SpecOps vessel leave. And right as he was about to rattle off a curse, a comm ping from his console alerted him of an incoming transmission. Viln plopped down in his chair and flexed his mandibles in preparation of speech. When he noticed the origin coming from the cruiser, he bit out his curse anyway. "Station Manager Viln 'Rengum," he identified himself, as he flipped the switch to accept the transmission.

At first, all he heard was a snarl, but then the sound of a throat clear cut through and the image of the shipmaster appeared on Viln's screen, his console straining to interpolate and convert the holographic into the two-dimensional. The shipmaster's head was bent down at an angle to give him a most sinister appearance. "Our fuel transfer is nearly complete. I trust you understand the imperative need I have of making this stop."

Viln blinked his eyes slowly and nodded in the same fashion. "You honor us with your presence," he forced out with all the false sincerity he could muster.

Whether the link between the two was degraded to the point of masking Viln's tone or the shipmaster couldn't detect his sarcasm, the commander of the cruiser merely nodded in response. A faint beep caused the shipmaster to turn his head to his right. "Ah, it seems we are finished here. If you would have your crew retract the lines, we'll be on our way."

Viln was reaching for the comm to switch the channel when an alarm blared from behind him. He spun his chair around to find the racks of buoy sensor receivers flashing in protest as their feeds were abruptly cut off. His eyes scanned the data pouring over the many smaller screens when the next row of receivers shorted out. As his hearts raced and his mind computed the events, he realized the outer-most sensor buoys had failed followed by the next ring . . .

Over his shoulder, the shipmaster growled. "Is there a problem?"

Spinning back around, Viln's long fingers flew over the console as he attempted to access emergency protocols. "Get your shields up now, Shipmaster!" he yelled.

The cruiser's commander reeled his head back in disgust. "Now see here. You have no place to order-"

"Just do it!" Viln countered, finally finding the outpost's list of overrides to bring its own shielding online. "Some sort of crippling pulse has just knocked out our sensor buoys," he quickly explained.

The shipmaster barked an order at some one on his bridge, but Viln was already tuning him out. The faint haze of orange was beginning to appear just outside the tiny viewport, but Viln quickly turned away, hoping the shields would hold under the inevitable wave.

He signaled a station-wide alert and was in the process of manually removing data cores, when the floor shook violently and pitched him to the ground, kicking his hooves out from underneath. He knew he hadn't hit his head, but the small room swam in and out of focus as he struggled to upright himself.

Slightly disoriented, he found his chair and sat down. His workstation was completely void of power and he assumed it was true of the entire outpost. He pressed a few start-up buttons experimentally and was rewarded with his console humming to life. Smiling, he looked up through the window to see the shields no longer there, but he figured they had absorbed most of the effect and silently thanked the makers of this particular station for adding such a safety feature.

As Viln's screen flickered on, the comm began to light up with damage reports and injury listings. He was about to access the intercom when the shipmaster's face appeared again. Viln was taken aback by the image and frowned, curling his mandibles in displeasure. But the shipmaster ignored his expression. "By the Forerunners, what was that?"

Biting back another retort, Viln decided to appease the shipmaster for once and he called up the real-time analysis program he already had running. The first batch of data littered the screen and Viln nodded. "It was an electromagnetic pulse, a very strong one at that."

"Not strong enough," the cruiser's commander rumbled as he expanded his arms to encompass his ship.

Viln was about to add that without his warning the SpecOps vessel would be nothing more than a glorified lifeboat when a file attached itself to the currently streaming data. He brought up the record and scanned it's contents . . . and felt his mandibles drop in astonishment. If his equipment was functioning properly then the EMP they had just survived matched the _exact_ same readouts as one that had emanated coreward- nearly 200 years ago.

"What is going on?" the shipmaster asked, snapping Viln from his stupor.

"I'm transmitting you a file for your techs to take a look at," he said. "Most of my gear needs a diagnostic check and I'm afraid if I try to process some heavy data stream then all I'll get will be a plume of smoke."

The shipmaster turned his head, obviously looking at some display, and motioned with an opened hand for the techs to hurry and muted his comm with the other. It only took a handful of minutes for him to turn back towards Viln with a predatory smile spread across his face. "It seems we have found our long lost Oracle," he said quietly, conspiratorially. "The Prophets will be most pleased."

Viln felt his hearts nearly freeze up at the very mention of either holy figure. He didn't have the slightest clue what the shipmaster was talking about, but it was definitely something to call in. He absently searched his console, but found his long-range communications out of commission. "Will you be sending a Fleet?" he breathed.

The shipmaster snorted. "And let them rob me of my glorious victory?" He dismissed the thought with a wave of a hand. "I shall horde it for myself."

Even with his own limited knowledge of how the Fleet operated, Viln knew it wasn't wise to scrap a previously made mission for a glory-seeking expedition. "But-"

"We have determined the location of our long-awaited prize and will head there will all haste!" he bellowed, eliciting cheers from his bridge crew.

Swearing to himself, Viln knew he would never be able to convince the shipmaster not to go, but he could try stalling him. His eyes read over the damage assessment just now coming up on a secondary screen. "Shipmaster, I have cataclysmic failure in my reactors; I'm not sure how long we can remain operable."

The shipmaster flashed him another toothy grin. "Long enough for your next supply frigate, I'm sure." His face seemed to darken under a shadow. But when they do arrive, _we_ were never here. Do you understand Station Manager?"

Hands balling into fists, Viln just stared back at the intimidating Sangheili.

The shipmaster lifted his head in arrogance. "I take your silence as future compliance."

The image winked out and Viln stood to once again peer out the viewport over his desk. Looking out over the outpost's hull, he could see the SpecOps Cruiser break away from _Hydra's End_. With bile brewing in the back of his throat, Viln 'Rengum doubted he'd ever see the ship again.

Returning to the comm, he began responding to the hails of his crewmembers. _Well, at least this is a change of pace_.

* * *

Jerome steadied his breathing, forcing himself to relax. Being one of three people on _Tradewind_ to have a sealed suit, he put it upon himself to venture out into the partial vacuum that was the asteroid's surface. It didn't mean he liked it, he rather hated it, but he needed Alice and Douglas to get things done inside while he was outside.

A marine standing near the edge of the docking bay had spotted Fox One solely by the fire that was burning from one of the dropship's thrusters, getting Anders off the task of fixing _Tradewind_'s sensors. And that fire was Jerome's only beacon as he took another cautious step on the hard ground. There was enough metallic elements for the magnetic layer on the soles of his armor's boots to take hold with each step, giving him a little more assurance that he wouldn't just float away.

"You takin' a stroll, or just admiring the view?"

Jerome turned his head around to see Douglas standing a dozen meters away on the edge of the docking bay with arms folded across his chest. "Aren't you suppose to be organizing the search for survivors?" Jerome asked mildly.

In response, Douglas shook his head and jumped two meters down to the rocky surface. "Two squads are roaming the accessible sections of the ship, but our acting-captain said he was the only one not in cryo." He crossed the distance to Jerome quickly, finding more confidence in his armor's ability to keep him close to the ground than his Spartan leader. "So I took a page from your book and tried that whole delegation thing."

Jerome tilted his head, eying Douglas with half curiosity and half amusement. "How's that working out?"

Douglas merely wrapped the knuckles of his right hand against Jerome's chestplate and headed for the fire that burned some distance away. "It only means it frees you up for other duties, like backing up your commander."

Chuckling, Jerome shook his head and the two men picked up their pace. "You think Alice will manage keeping tabs on Anders?"

"Honestly, I think we're over the worst of this so-called rescue mission." Douglas shrugged. "And I think the Professor knows the ramifications of what she did. She'll be a lot more cautious."

Jerome gave Douglas a sideways glare. "Let's hope so on both accounts."

* * *

Ellen exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair off her face, if only temporary. The long bangs fell gentle across her left eye and cheek again, so she tucked the stubborn hair behind her ear.

"What's wrong?" asked the female Spartan standing off to Ellen's left in the confined reactor room.

"Nothing, it's just taking longer than I thought," Anders answered, not even attempting to hide the annoyance from her voice. "Could you hold that light a little more steady?"

Just inside the doorway, flanked by two marines, the Monitor perked up. "Perhaps I could-"

"No," both Alice and Anders cut him off simultaneously. The two women exchanged glances but quickly turned their eyes away.

Ellen sighed in frustration. After Contrite Variant's barrage of questions about _Tradewind_ and his eagerness to help get the ship's reactor running, Anders had had her fill of AIs for the day. At first, she was anxious to asked questions of her own about the installations the Monitor had talked about briefly, but whenever she'd bring them up, Contrite Variant would just express their need to go to B-23. The floating AI was proving itself to be a nuisance, but Ellen still held out hope that she could speak with it at length. _As soon as I get this ship back to life_ . . .

She finally got the side panel to the reactor's main console open and started diagnosing the problem. "More light," she said, lowering herself down to the cold metal floor to get a better view of the finer circuitry inside.

Alice complied without comment, but Ellen figured the Spartan was just as agitated.

Ellen was more than anxious to start examining _Tradewind_'s FTL drive, but first she had to restore power throughout the ship before those crewmen still in cryo had their pod's batteries depleted. Anders knew the lifespan of 200 year-old batteries were next to nothing, but at the very least, they had automatically kick on once the EMP pulse knocked out the crippled ship's power. Guilt began to filter into the corners of her mind. _Keeping them alive is the least I can do_.

Within a handful of minutes Anders realized there was not much she had to fix. Surprisingly, none of the caps were bad and the few transformers still held a nominal rating. She merely had to bypass a few sequences in the start-up order and she was good to go. Doubting _Tradewind _had extra parts lying around that were easy to find, she chalked this little victory up as a near miracle. Tightening the clamps down over the panel, she gave Alice a thumb up. "Now all we need is the reactor's core realigned," she said as she stood up.

"How do we do that?" Alice asked.

"Manually, of course," Ellen answered with raised eyebrows. She frowned suddenly when she realized the problem that presented itself. She looked out the opposite glass wall, into the reactor proper, and focused her own glowrod's beam inside. "We'll need someone to physically make the adjustment," she pointed a finger to the reactor, "inside there."

Alice marched up to the glass and peered inside. After a few seconds of examination she turned to Anders, shaking her head. "There's a coolant leak ten centimeters deep. If someone were to reactivate the reactor, they'd instantly fry from the radiation spike."

"So we either need to clean up the fluid and make sure the floor has been properly coated, or we just need to not touch the ground . . ." Ellen trailed off, as both women turned to face the floating Monitor.

For the first time, Contrite Variant waited to speak. He just kept looking back and forth at the two females.

"No. It can't be trusted," Alice grumbled.

Anders thought for a moment before answering. To properly align the core, there had to be some very fine adjustments to the inner casing: tabs need to line up to the micron, pins need to make simultaneous contact. She wasn't even sure _she_ could do it without partially ruining the core. _Since we don't have the equipment, the AI could be exact_ . . .

"What about just using a battery backup, like the cryo-pods are using?" offered one marine.

Ellen shook her head. "They used up their charge a long time ago. Whoever was in command here, didn't think he would be stranded for very long, or else he just made a stupid mistake." She pulled out her datapad and brought up the schematic of the reactor. "We _need_ to get this reactor core aligned," she added, looking at the Spartan.

The two women were locked in a staring match for a few breaths before Alice snapped her head up. "Monitor, do you have any experience with this sort of thing?" she asked pensively.

Contrite Variant looked to Anders' datapad before answering. "Of course. I was- _am_, the Monitor of Installation 03 and Research Facility B-23 where I perform many tasks such as this." He dipped down slightly. "I assure you, the hazards in the targeted room will not effect me."

"Whatever the outcome, we'll at least solve _one_ problem," Alice muttered. "Alright, Professor, your show."

Anders could tell there was an unspoken remark lurking behind that golden visor, and she wanted to call it out. But instead she led the Monitor to the closed blast door off to their right, perpendicular to the doorway the floating machine was still hovering in. With the portable power supply one marine had rigged together with parts on loan from Fox Three, they were able to open the door without much stalling. Thankfully the large lip at the bottom of the doorframe was large enough to halt the coolant from flooding on to Ellen's shoes.

"Okay, let me run you through this," she started, bringing up the reactor core layout on her datapad's screen.

Without warning, a bright yellow beam crossed the distance from the Monitor to the screen with a hiss. It vanished just as quickly as it appeared, and Contrite Variant looked over at the Professor. "No need. I understand completely."

Ellen's jaw was still open in shock when the Monitor entered the reactor proper. Her hands tingled from the small electric shock, but her datapad appeared fine. When she turned her head to ask if the others had seen the flash of light, they were all in the process of lowering their weapons. Swallowing hard, she motioned for the marine to seal the blast door and wondered if she had made a mistake by allowing the AI access to such a vital part of the ship.

* * *

Nathan Parker set his helmet down on the holoprojector's outer edge and leaned heavily on the metal bar that wrapped around the entire centerpiece. He was staring at the floating holo-image of the asteroid in the dimly lit ready room when it suddenly shifted to a view of the stars. He frowned and straightened his arms.

"Excuse me?"

His eyes darted to the source of the voice to his right. "I'm sorry," he stated, narrowing his eyes to peer through the darkness.

The dark armored figure standing at the far end of the projector shrugged. "Apology accepted, but do you mind?"

Nathan's frowned deepened. "Tor- Holmen?" he hastily corrected himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone else was in here."

"Right. Even though I told you this is where I would be?" she responded with sass.

He pressed his lips together in denial. _Wait, she did tell me that_. "Sorry, I can go . . ." he said apologetically, standing up straight.

Toril sighed loud enough for Nathan to hear. "No, I was just studying a possible target." She waved a hand at the floating star field. "Would you mind switching it back?"

"Ah, yeah." He looked down at the array of buttons surrounding his helmet when he realized he had accidentally changed the image by setting his helmet down where he did. He picked up his headgear and tucked it under his left arm while switching the projector back to the asteroid's image.

"Thank you," Toril said, the first syllable sounding almost percussive.

Nathan nodded and nearly turned to go, but something inside his mind told him that to leave would be to retreat. Despite the brief, awkward shift of his feet, he returned to his original position but kept his helmet securely between his forearms. Although he could sense her gaze fixed on him, he just stared at the rolling rock hovering a half meter away. Nathan could tell this was some sort of test of hers and a large part of him wanted to prove her wrong.

The room fell silent and Nathan actually started to study the asteroid, looking for the best possible insertion points. He knew, like any other ODST, that landing on such a thin-aired environment would mean vac suits, so he began to examine the wreckage of the mapping ship instead. The problem he could see was all the small rocks collected at the rear of the asteroid where _Tradewind_ was "parked". To him, it would seem they should aim for the smoother far side and adjust their trajectory accordingly. _Though the actually gravity of that rock might send us crashing to the surface a bit prematurely_.

"So much for the 'D' in ODST," Toril muttered. "There's no easy way for us to get to that ship."

Letting a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, Nathan nodded. "My thoughts exactly," he said, keeping the amusement from his voice. The fact that they had come to the same conclusion was a minor victory, but one he would have to keep to himself.

"So why are we prepped for pod launch?" Toril asked, then quickly threw up her hand in frustration. "The Captain's not as quick without his AI."

Finally, Nathan turned to face Holmen. "I think Cutter has a lot more experience than you give him. He has his reasons," Nathan gently retorted, slightly surprised at how quickly he had come to the Captain's defense.

She snorted. "Yeah. Reasons that give everyone doubts about his ability to lead us into battle."

Nathan's eyebrows met together. _Has she forgotten everything that transpired since Arcadia?_ "And what about him getting us out of the interior of that collapsing shield world?"

Toril circled around the opposite side of the projector to stare through the image at Nathan. "We never would've needed to be there if Cutter had listened to Spartan 042," she bit out.

He opened his mouth to speak but remained wordless. Nathan totally forgot about 042 strongly recommending to destroy the Covenant ship Anders was on. In one way, Toril had a point, but Nathan was sure Cutter made the right decision by listening to Sgt. Forge. Unlike most of the soldiers aboard the _Spirit of Fire_, he had a soft spot for the Professor. He would have liked to think it was all because his sister was a scientist, but a vision of Ellen Anders' beautiful face replaced that of his sibling.

"That lousy Professor," Toril added under her breath.

"Playing the 'what ifs' won't change the past, Holmen," he said, shifting his mind back into gear. "Decisions were made, lives were lost, and you know what? We completed our mission." He looked down at his pointed right index finger, not realizing he had extended it towards Toril, and lowered his hand to his side.

The female ODST spread her arms wide. "But at what cost?" she replied with unusual calm.

Nathan sighed and blinked his eyes slowly, bringing his pulse back to normal. Here they were, limping back to UNSC-controlled space, floating alongside a 200 year-old shipwrecked vessel, hoping to gut the ship for its FTL drive, and he was arguing ethics with a fellow squadmate. "Look, I-"

Suddenly, warning klaxons blared overhead and the holo-image of the asteroid was abruptly replaced with the last thing Nathan could ever have expected. His eyes grew wide, and he quickly slammed on his helmet. "Break's over," Nathan said as he waved Toril to the exit he was already starting for.

* * *

Through the glass, yellow bursts of light would flash at random, as Contrite Variant worked to align the core. If the AI was familiar at all with the process, he would have the ship's power restored in a matter of minutes.

It was during the third minute when Ellen's comm crackled to life and she expected an update on 092's progress. But the voice of the Monitor filled her right ear instead. "It is very interesting to see you Reclaimers progress. I would have thought by now you would be more . . . advanced."

"What?" Ellen said, puzzled. "Focus on the core, then we can talk."

Contrite Variant chuckled, his voice sounding even more processed through her tiny earpiece. "My Makers infused in me the ability to multitask." Through the glass, a few more traces of light could be seen reflecting off the shiny walls and gently stirred coolant. "I apologize for the inconvenience my startup process caused," the Monitor commented dolefully. "This isn't the first time I've inadvertently crippled a space-faring vessel."

Ellen sighed. _Maybe if I talk with it now, it will get on with the reactor_. "Yeah, we know you caused _Tradewind_ to crash here," she said with disinterest. looking at the others for any kind of help in conversing with the AI. But all she received were expressions and body language that told her she had gotten herself in this mess and she would have to dig herself out. "So, are you looking for someone to accept your apology?" she asked, as a thought quickly occurred to her. _If I can deflect this line of questions to someone more suitable_ . . . "Because technically I'm not the leader of our little squad."

Anders was pleased to see Alice lower her head in a warning posture.

"No," Contrite Variant said. "I'm just trying to achieve a better grasp on my timeframe."

A large vibration shook the floor and Ellen braced herself against the glass. Suddenly, like someone igniting a flame, the reactor fired up and brilliant white light washed over her face, blinding her. At first she winced, but her eyes quickly adjusted to see the core perfectly aligned and the Monitor facing her, silhouetted by the light. She gave Alice a nod and walked back over to the console. "It will take me a minute to get the fuses to their default positions."

"You see, my first encounter with intelligent life outside of my Installation duties came long before I was acquainted with this vessel," the Monitor continued, unfazed by his success with the reactor. "And it was with those that were unlike you. Similar, in some ways, but different."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "That's great, but we're a little busy right now." She entered the last command into the rebooted console and the room's glowpanels flickered to life with the telltale hum of power coursing through the ship. "That's it, we're good to go," she called out. Her fingers flew over the keypad, and she nodded to Alice. "Power to the cryo-room has been restored."

The Spartan relayed the information to second squad and turned off the light at the end of her MA5B. "Maybe that AI isn't so bad," she conceded.

Ellen shrugged. "When it does what it's told." She stood up and wiped her hands off on her pant legs. "I can prioritize everything else a lot more efficiently from the auxiliary bridge," she suggested.

"Right." Alice motioned with her rifle to fall out. "Get the Monitor out of there and we'll regroup with the rest of third squad on the Aux Bridge."

* * *

In the end, Jerome was glad Douglas had tagged along. It took the both of them to pry open the twisted rear hatch of Fox One, and Jerome was praying the cockpit door had properly sealed the pilot from the partial vacuum. Walking mostly on the starboard bulkhead, he made it to the tilted forward door and banged his fist three times on it's surface.

Two muffled thumps replied in the affirmative and the door slowly opened with a stuttered vibration. The female pilot wordlessly waved him in.

Even through the slight haze of the pilot's visor, Jerome could see she was in pain. He looked her over to find her sealed suit scarred with a nasty looking gash high on her left thigh. The fail-safes of her suit had sealed off the rupture but the pale look in her eyes told him she needed medical attention. _And an in-field patch-up job is out of the question_.

She reach up and grabbed his head, pulling his visor to touch hers in an awkward pose. But when she yelled, Jerome realized she wasn't trying to kiss him, but rather communicate through direct contact. "My suit's integrity will hold, but I'm still loosing blood."

At this distance, Jerome could see pale skin on her freckled face. Her deep green eyes were still sparkling despite the redness creeping it's way into the corners. "We'll get you out of here," He pulled away from their embrace and waved Douglas to come closer. He was able to get the female pilot out of her seat and hand her off through the cockpit doorway.

Douglas was quick to notice the injury and took great care to carry the pilot out of the dropship without causing further discomfort.

Jerome gave one final look at the broken console and headed back out in Douglas' wake. He quickly overtook the Spartan carrying the wounded pilot and held the twisted outer door open for them.

The woman smiled wearily and gave Jerome an appreciative nod.

As he patted Douglas on the shoulder, a flicker of pseudo-motion off in the distant blackness of space caught his eye. His grip on the twisted metal slacked as he turned to face this new oddity. His heart nearly froze in his chest when the tiny spot just above the horizon opened up into the circular pattern of a slipspace rupture.

And out of it came the recognizable hull of a Covenant cruiser.

"C'mon Jerome, let's get . . ." Douglas trailed off when he followed the Spartan leader's gaze. "Oh, no," he breathed. "We need to hurry, Jerome."  
Still keeping his eyes on the cruiser hovering on the horizon, Jerome started for _Tradewind_'s starboard docking bay. He stumbled down the rocky slope, but as soon as his feet made contact he was sprinting. Behind him, Douglas was now running with the pilot slung over his shoulder.

It was in those first few strides that Jerome wondered how his day could get any worse.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Slipspace rupture detected!" a voice bellowed from the bridge's sensor station.

James Cutter snapped his head up, his insides twisting into a knot. "Where?" he asked, starting for the tactical display. A pocket of technicians working on a broken console parted for the Captain as he moved past. Without Serina to do most of the computing, James was left with bridge personnel to fill the void that she had efficiently held. And throw in the rough state of repair his ship was in, it made this latest news turn his stomach.

"Far side of the asteroid, Sir," the sensors officer called. "Bringing up visuals now."

At the tactical display, the view zoomed out and encompassed both the asteroid and the large space surrounding it. To Cutter's relative right sat the _Spirit of Fire_, with her port side facing the asteroid. And to the left of the floating mass, closer to the tail end, a ship blossomed from a slipstream ring.

A Covenant Cruiser.

For a single long-winded breath, the bridge was completely silent, and then like a black hole regurgitating a star, the air filled with a barrage of information.

"Unknown Covenant vessel- er, cruiser-class. Single ship."

"No outer marks. IFF not lining up with any know Covenant fleet designations."

"Confirmed, Covenant cruiser is not in any of our archives."

James listened to the words of his bridge crew as he reset his cap on his head, smoothing his gray-black hair with the perspiration on his forehead. "Has it detected us yet?" he asked over the buzz.

"Uh, I'm not sure, Sir," the sensors officer nervously replied. "The visual and sensor data we're picking up is from Fox Two parked on top of _Tradewind_'s hull. We're out of its direct line of sight, though they can cross that plane at anytime."

"Helmsman!" the Captain yelled, spotting the youthful man at the helm. "Keep us directly opposite that cruiser. I do _not_ want it to know we're out here."

"Aye, Sir!"

Cutter turned back to face the tactical display. The Covenant ship was more or less still getting its bearings as he keyed the comm. "Spartan Team, this is the _Spirit of Fire_, we have a Covenant Cruiser off the far side of the asteroid. Do you copy?"

There was a brief, static pause as Spartan 092's comm linked with the transmitter on Fox Three. "We see it, _Spirit of Fire_," he answer with a huff. "It would be wishful thinking to believe that EMP would go undetected."

A sour taste brewed in Cutter's mouth. That thought _had_ been in the back of his mind, but there was no way to determine how fast a possible Covenant response could be mounted. _Apparently fast enough to catch us here_. "Go dark, Spartans. We'll try to swing around and catch them by surprise."

"Sir! Covenant dropships are exiting the cruiser's hangar," a voice called from the crew pit.

James turned his attention back to the tactical display. Three Phantoms were departing from the keel of the cruiser in a perfect triangular pattern. Since the Captain had not seen the smoothly-curved ships since his first few battles at Harvest, he almost didn't recognize them. "092, you're about to have company. Go dark before they zero in on your location," he ordered.

"Sorry, Sir, but you need all the intel you can get," Spartan responded matter-of-factly.

"That wasn't a suggestion, Spartan," James said with a slight grit to his voice.

"He's right, Sir," the sensors officer offered, scratching the back of his neck. "Without Fox Two supplying us with the data feeds, we're blind until we come around and spot the ship ourselves."

Cutter swore to himself and closed his eyes for the duration of his sigh. "Alright, hold tight, Ground Team."

"Copy. Wait, I see them. Three marks vectoring in," 092 informed. "We'll hold them off till you get here."

"Good luck, Spartan." James straightened and started for the rows of officers behind consoles. "What's the status of our weaponry?" he asked when he came to a stop beside a female officer.

Gritting her teeth, the woman enter the inquiry into her console. "Not good, Sir. Half our deck guns are still off-line. 30 of our point defense guns are operable. And the MAC is just now warming up." She looked up from her screen with a faint smile. "I can't guarantee how many shots we'll get out of it."

James placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. "Do what you can." He glanced over at the helmsman and made eye contact. "Bring us around, Helm."

As the youthful-looking man nodded in compliance, the Captain watched the stars shining into the forward viewport slowly shift right. Deep down, James knew this engagement was a risk. Even though his ship out-sized the cruiser twice over, the Covenant vessel had shields, a defense that could deter him from ending this fight quickly. Without Serina to operate the MAC, he was forced to rely on human targeting, something he had never done.

His crew was tired, still groggy from cryo-sleep, and for a number of them, it was their first time manning their consoles outside of a simulation. James turned around to see Engineer Bradley hard at work on the holographic pedestal to get the shipboard AI functioning again. Cutter didn't feel helpless without Serina, but the fact that the _Spirit of Fire_ was in such great need of her now made his stomach turn even worse.

* * *

"Fox Two," Jerome called out. He came to halt just inside the docking bay the damaged dropship was in, and he waved a few marines over to take the wounded pilot from Douglas. Jerome quickly caught his breath and entered Fox Three's cockpit with Douglas on his heels.

"This is Two," came a nervous voice over both his helmet's comm and the cockpit's audio gear. "You guys seeing this?"

Jerome leaned over the pilot's seat to stare at the visual feed on the main display. "Yeah." On the screen, the three Covenant troop carriers were heading towards _Tradewind's_ location, bearing down like a group of carnivorous avians. He turned his head partway around and pointed outside. "Douglas, get these blast doors closed, now."

042 nodded and flew out the opened hatch.

"Um, Leader?" the comm beckoned in panic.

Looking back at the display, Jerome could see one of the Phantoms maneuvering into a position directly over Fox Two. _Damn those things are fast_. "Get out of there, Two!"

"I can't! I need someone to seal the docking collar."

"No, just get inside _Tradewind_ and leave the dropship behind!" he yelled.

"I'm moving," the pilot panted as his breathing continued to broadcast over the comm.

With the Starboard Docking Bay's doors noisily closing over his shoulder, Jerome could barely hear the pilot's last cry when the feed from Fox Two abruptly cut off. Jerome could feel the entire mapping ship shudder under an explosion as he stabilized himself against a bulkhead. "Two? Two, do you copy?"

There was no answer.

He slammed a fist down on the console and left the dropship just in time to see the large bay doors meters apart from closing. In contrast to the rumbling sounds of the ponderous doors, a high-pitched whistle was getting louder. At first there was a blur of motion in the closing crack, but then the object outside slowed and an odd-shaped barrel lined up for a shot. Within half a second he recognized the weapon and Jerome lunged to his left.

Boiling pink plasma shot out an under-slung turret of the Phantom, super-heating the deck 092 had just vacated. Jerome tucked and rolled, getting farther away from the path of destruction. The double doors slammed shut, as the barrage of plasma fire rang out like hollow muffled thumps against the protective outer layer of the bay.

Jerome quickly scrambled to his feet and examined his armor. When he found it fully intact he breathed a sigh of relief. _That was close_. He joined Douglas with the group of Marines huddled near the corridor entrance.

"You okay?" Douglas asked, one of his SMGs already in hand.

Jerome rolled his shoulder and flexed his left hand. "I'm fine." He pulled his assault rifle from his back and motioned with the weapon towards the exit. "They'll be coming through the dorsal hatch, right where Fox Two was docked."

Douglas gave a quick, nearly undetectable turn of his head.

Likewise, Jerome gave an abbreviated shake of his helmet to let the other Spartan know the dropship was probably nothing but a charred mass. "Let's move out. Hopefully we can cut them off before they can scatter throughout the ship."

* * *

"Copy, Jerome," Alice answered. She lowered her head and nodded to the four marines. "We've got Covies at our drop-off point. We'll meet the rest of our group there."

"What's going on?" Ellen demanded, slightly annoyed at not having heard the female Spartan's conversation with 092. Anders hated being left out of the loop and she was pretty sure Alice was doing it on purpose.

"Phantoms are inbound, that's what's going on," Alice reply tartly.

Being irritated as she was, Anders had totally missed the Spartan's words to her troopers. And now, even as she processed what Alice had said, Ellen felt her heart nearly cease up in her throat. "The Covenant?" she breathed, asking as if hearing it a second or third time would make it more believable.

"Thanks in no small part to you two," Alice muttered.

Ellen exchanged a glance with Contrite Variant and her shoulders slumped from the weight of the guilt that latched onto her like a predatory wasp. Anders had never thought the effects of such a calloused accusation could eat at her emotions, but the sting had pierced her deeply. All she ever wanted to do was to get the _Spirit of Fire_ back home safely, and now her actions had doomed them all.

Spartan 130 noticed the Professor's posture change and Alice's own stance shifted apologetically. "Look, you two get back to the Starboard Docking Bay and lock it down. Maybe even see if you can get some of _Tradewind_'s security cams up and help us track these aliens down."

Ellen looked up at the towering figure, trying to read the Spartan's body language. With her face hidden behind a visor, the only clue Ellen got was the slight tilt of Alice's head. Coupled with the tone of her voice, Anders concluded Alice was trying to offer her a chance for redemption, even if it was a small one.

The Professor squared her shoulders. "I'll see what I can do," she said. Ellen looked down both ways of the corridor they were in and pointed to her left. "This way?"

Alice nodded. "Take it till it dead ends, then go right." She leaned in ever so slightly. "And please keep an eye on your friend here," she added quietly.

A smirk formed on Ellen's face only to fade out in the time it took for her to sigh. "Good luck."

* * *

The holo-image on the tactical display winked out of existence when Cutter was just about to alert the dropship of the bogey.

"We just lost Fox Two, Sir," a crewman called from a console. "And our visuals with it."

James switched off the static display and marched forward towards the main viewport. "Do we still have communications?"

Y-yes, Sir. barely," came the quivering voice of his communications officer. "They were using Fox Two's transmitter and routing the signal to Three where _that_ dropship would link up with the ground team." The officer, a lanky male from some back-world colony, swallowed visibly. "The signal's diminished, but operable."

"Very well," Cutter murmured. "Sensors, what all were you able to pull up on that cruiser before Two's feed cut off?"

"Not much, Sir," he said regrettably.

"Give us what you can. I want all possible structural weak-points and weapons blisters identified. Use our templates we have on file as a reference, if you need."

"Aye."

"Helm, ETA?" he asked. Cutter's mind tended to work fastest when he was under the pressure of battle, and now was when everyone needed to be on their toes.

"In what shape would you like the hull when we get there, Sir?"

James was about to reprimand the officer about properly informing him of the situation, but when he spotted the first Pelican-sized rock floating into view from their left he understood. The shipmaster, not too concerned with collateral damage, was beginning to carve a path through the cloud of rock and ice, and in so doing, sent the rubble flying off in every direction. _Well, at least he's clearing the battlefield for us._

The captain folded his arms across his chest and drummed the fingers of his right hand in his left bicep. He was hoping the cluttered back end of the asteroid would mask their approach, but the debris field was larger that he had anticipated. One option would be to use their point defense guns to eliminate some of the larger rocks- like the cruiser was doing, but in the process it would give away their stealth. The other option would be to swing around even wider to avoid their hull being chewed to bits, but giving the Covenant cruiser a clear view of the _Spirit of Fire_. James sighed. _Command is never easy_.

"Captain?"

Cutter chewed the inside of his cheek. "Swing us around wide, but keep us as close as you can to the outer edge of that debris cloud."

About halfway through the turn, the sensors officer spoke up. "Sir, I have the approximate readouts you asked for."

James circled around behind the sensors station. The screen showed the cruiser in a translucent grid pattern with small boxes of text branching out from highlighted areas. "Go ahead."

The officer pointed to the port and starboard bow. "I've located their forward batteries here and here, but it seems they rely on doors that open in order to fire." He switched to a bird's eye view of the enemy ship. "And they have pulse laser turrets running just below their mid-line on either side, also housed behind large doors."

"Hmm." Frowning at the readout, James scratched the stumble on his chin. The turrets were nothing new, but the use of keeping them hidden from visual contact and not from focused sensors was a mystery to him. "Your thoughts on those doors?"

The officer opened his mouth quickly then shut it just as fast. "I don't see any advantage to keeping their guns hidden; it's obviously a military craft and the design clearly gives that away." He tapped his left index finger to his lips. "Aside for the aesthetic purpose in making the ship look sleek, I really don't know."

Cutter patted the man on the shoulder. "Keep at it. Maybe something will make sense."

"Coming around, Sir," the helmsman said.

James walked forward to the main viewport to see the asteroid beginning to appear off the port bow. He narrowed his eyes, to try and spot the enemy ship . . .

"Covenant cruiser on the horizon!"

"Bring weapons systems online," Cutter ordered calmly. "Get me a visual up on the main screen."

As he predicted, the cruiser had settled over _Tradewind_'s crash site, using their own point defense turrets to clear a path wide enough to fit. For now, the enemy ship was holding steady. "Weapons, lock in firing solutions as soon as we're within range," he said. "Helm, swing our aft around and get us facing that cruiser. I don't want our flank exposed till we're ready."

The view outside shifted once again, and some of the rocks following the larger asteroid began to ping off the _Spirit of Fire_'s hull, causing a few crewmen to cringe at the multiple impacts.

"Steady," Cutter murmured.

"The Cruiser is firing!"

"Elevate us thirty degrees," the Captain ordered, taking a seat at his command chair.

Off to his right, the woman at the weapons console turned halfway around to face him. "Why would they be firing now? We're still a dozen kilometers out till either side has maximum range."

James frowned, feeling his brow crease in concentration. There was only four laser pulses headed towards them and he had plenty of time to dodge out of their way . . . He bolted upright when he realized their subtle yet simple tactics. "Hard to starboard! Get us away from these rocks," he bellowed.

Without waiting, the helmsman took the ship in a sudden turn, the engines groaning in protest. Outside, the enemy's magenta-colored fire made contact with the larger chunks of floating rock, blasting it into thousands of smaller fragments that made contact with other gaseous rocks, exploding them on impact. The chain reaction ran its course over the rear portion of the orbiting debris, creating a huge cloud of dust and fire.

_Spirit of Fire _shook violently as its port side was peppered with the downsized chunks. The forward viewport was washed in dark brown particles as if a windstorm had suddenly caught the UNSC vessel in its gale.

James held on to the arms of his chair, clenching his teeth till the vibrations subsided and the crew collected itself. "Report."

One officer to his left spoke up first. "Uh, minimal damage to our flank," he informed, reading the diagnostics on his screen. "One of our deck guns took a sizable hit and is unable to rotate. Firebase Cluster 2 won't be able to disengage from dock till the C clamps are repaired."

"Thank you," Cutter said, trying his best to keep the anger from his voice. He had been played the fool. Taking a so-called 'masked' route had nearly cost him the entire ship. He was playing against the odds and lost without even looking at his hand. The lack of Serina's instant analysis and functionality was being deeply missed, but the Captain knew he should have factored in the possibility of the cruiser noticing his maneuver.

James pounded a closed fist off his knee and growled to himself. _No more mistakes_. "Helm, put us on an intercept course with that cruiser. Weapons, prepare to fire."

"That could be a problem, Sir," the sensors officer added with a nervous tone.

Frowning, Cutter looked out the main viewport, as the _Spirit of Fire_ turned slowly to the left. "What?"

"The Covenant Cruiser . . . it's gone."

* * *

"Alice, location," Jerome asked between breaths as he turned the last corner to his destination. The main corridor was still undamaged and sealed off from the ventral hatch, leaving Jerome to believe the Phantom's weapons were precise enough to eliminate Fox Two but leave the docking collar intact.

"We're in position in the far room to your right."

"Copy." Jerome came to a stop against the metal frame of the blast door that would shut off access from the main corridor to the hatch room and leaned his head forward to spot Alice down to his right a good ten meters. "Stay hidden." He caught her nod and she ducked back out of sight.

Hugging the other side of the door frame, Douglas shifted uneasily. "What's taking them so long?" he asked quietly, flexing his fingers around the pair of SMGs he was holding.

Jerome shrugged and took a quick look behind him to see both squads of marines hunkering in for battle. Some were content with kneeling, while others had hauled old filing cabinets out into the hallway for make-shift cover. The two Spartans were running point, and most of the marines probably wouldn't be able to get a clean shot off between the three-meter gap separating 092 and 042, but their positions would enable a quick retreat, if it came to that.

But in the back of his mind, Jerome was as anxious for battle as Douglas. His senses alert, he waited. _C'mon_.

As if on cue, a circular purple light flashed into existence, sculpted by the rough circumference of the open hatch. A sound akin to a reactor humming rippled through the walls, as the gravity lift made the connection to the hatch room floor. A single Unggoy floated down and landed with a snort. Jerome could see the odd design of its methane tank differ from those Grunts he had encountered before. Rather than wearing a pink, triangular re-breather system, this one was encased in jet-black armor with two slender protrusions attached to its back. It quickly turned to examine its surroundings, sniffing the air while pulling out a Needler.

Still in the relative darkness of the corridor, Jerome slowly pulled out his M6 pistol and lined up a headshot. "Psst," he hissed.

The alien snapped his head around faster than Jerome would have thought, but he squeezed the trigger and hit his mark square in the forehead. The round passed right through flesh and bone to ding off the back wall. For a moment the Unggoy remained upright, as if unfazed by the sudden end to its life, and it took another two seconds for its body to collapse to the floor.

Two more Grunts dropped down the light chute, one landing awkwardly on top of the dead companion while the other landed in a crouch, its Plasma Pistol already charged.

Jerome easily picked off the one that had stumbled via a shot to the side of its head, but in so doing, gave his position away. The ball of green plasma scorched towards him and he quickly pulled back as the blast struck the door frame, instantly liquefying the metal and warping it. "Fire at will!" he ordered, resetting his shoulder against the bulkhead in a lower stance.

But when he peered around the corner to find the lone Unggoy, four Elites were in its place: two with Needlers, one with a Plasma Rifle, and one with an Energy Sword. As the marines opened fire, the Elites split off into pairs, diving to the left and right. The lunging move took them out of the marines' line of sight, but more Covenant were on their way down the lift.

"Concentrate all fire forward!" he yelled to his squad.

The staccato of Douglas' duel-wielding fire could be heard over the sustained assault rifles coming from the line of marines. Douglas emptied one magazine into the Elite rifleman struggling to find some cover and was able to bring the towering alien's shields down. Jerome swung his upper torso around the metal striping of the door frame and hastily fired half a dozen rounds at the Elite. He pulled himself back into cover just in time before a barrage of pink needles littered the doorway, giving the wall the appearance of a technicolor porcupine.

"He's down," Douglas confirmed. He quickly reloaded both SMGs and reached his arms around his side of the door frame, firing blindly at the source of the needles. "We got more coming."

Switching to his MA5B, Jerome spared a long glance at the confined battlefield. There were a handful of Unggoy bodies piled up at the base of the glowing lift, but still more Elites were fanning out to the extreme left and right of the rectangular hatch room laying down suppressing fire. Jerome knew it would only be a matter of a time before the Sangheili warriors overran the Spartans.

But he still had an ace up his sleeve. "Alice, _now_."

Even from his shielded position, Jerome could hear the roar of Alice's squad as they opened fire on the intruders. Bullets lowered shields and purple and blue blood splattered against the walls, as the gravity lift retracted. Caught between two lines of fire, the remaining Covenant troops had no chance at survival but to charge. One Elite ran towards Alice's group only to be cut down beside a pair of Grunts.

With a resounding yell, the sword-bearing Elite rushed at Douglas who was caught reloading both SMGs. The marines halted their fire, afraid to hit one of their own, as the Elite lunged forward.

Jerome slammed his right shoulder into the alien's side, sending both of them to the ground. In midair, the Elite tried to swing his Energy Sword around to impale the Spartan leader, but Douglas swung his leg up, connecting his foot with the alien's elbow. The glowing blade lanced off of Jerome's back, sparking against but not puncturing the armor. He then landed partly on top of the Elite and felt something crunch inside the alien. It snarled in protest, but Douglas brought his foot down hard on the Elite's long neck, crushing its windpipe and ending the fight.

Jerome pushed off the dead Sangheili and stood up to survey the engagement zone. All weapons had ceased fire and the smoldering bodies of dead Covenant littered the floor. "Alice, report."

"Right here," she called, emerging from the doorway to his right. Alice kept her assault rifle moving back and forth over the fallen enemy, seeing if any were still alive, as she and her squad met the two male Spartans near the center of the room. "One of my guys took a needle to his leg. Nothing serious but he should still see a med tech."

Jerome nodded in acknowledgment. "Doug?"

"No casualties to report." He prodded a Grunt with his foot, flipping it over to lay its back. "These Grunts look different to you?"

"Yeah," Jerome agreed. "They must be a special task force or something."

Alice tilted her head in amusement. "'Or something'? Whatever division they're from, they didn't last long." She waved her left hand at the carnage. "It was a crapshoot."

Jerome shrugged. "That was mostly due to superior tactics and the element of surprise." He bent down and hefted the extinguished Energy Sword from the dead Elite's hand. "But something tells me, this is just the beginning of a long fight."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Closing the double doors behind her, Ellen Anders waved the Monitor over to the console she had previously repaired. The screen was still lit up with diagnostic data, but she was hoping to access the more intricate programs buried in the subroutines. As much as she wanted to return to the bridge, Ellen could read the seriousness in Alice's tone and granted her the fact that running around an old UNSC mapping ship unescorted while under Covenant attack was not a good idea. The docking bay provided them with a solid escape route and defensible positions, making it an ideal place for a last stand. If it ever came down to that.

Following the female Spartan's request, Ellen sealed them in, locking the docking bay off from the rest of the ship. The lone marine in the bay was patching up the pilot from Fox One, while the other pilot, kneeling at her side, did his best not to vomit at the sight of blood.

Frowning to herself, Ellen started for the wounded woman propped up against the forward landing gear of the dropship. Anders did take a few med courses during her quick transit through the various universities, and any help she could offer would probably be desired. Probably.

"Anything I can do?" she asked the marine.

"No, ma'am," he answered without looking up. He had just finished wrapping the last layer of medi-tape around the woman's thigh. "The wound didn't nick the femoral artery but it was close." He finally turned his head around and abruptly stood up when he recognized the Professor. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

Ellen's eyebrows met in partial amusement. "It's okay. Is she going to be alright?"

"Yes, but she really should visit the Med Bay." The marine's eyes defocused and he took a step back. "Uh, ma'am? Is that the . . ."

Anders looked over her shoulder to see Contrite Variant hovering at the console, watching their conversation for a distance. "Yes, that's the Monitor."

The marine worked his jaw for a moment. "Oh, so the cause of all our problems has a title?" He shook his head. "Well, you might want to keep it out of the survivor's sight. He keeps mumbling about that 'wretched machine'," he said using air-quotes.

Feeling a fresh wave of guilt being ushered into her her heart by the bitterness of his words, Anders just nodded. "Where is the survivor?"

He poked a thumb towards the the dropship. "He's inside. Got himself strapped in, ready for takeoff."

"Good, keep him there." Ellen looked down at the wounded pilot. "Better get her inside too, if we have to jet out of here in a hurry."

"Right." The marine waved the dazed Fox Three pilot over and the two men carried the injured woman into the dropship.

Ellen let out a long sigh and returned to the console only to find the Monitor keeping a watchful eye on her.

"Is something wrong?" Contrite Variant asked.

"You have to ask?" Ellen countered. She brought up a menu system on screen and started to access the security programs_ Tradewind_ had installed. "Look, there's a lot I need to fix here. I've dug myself a pretty deep hole."

"Why would excavation be an issue?"

"No, it's . . ." Anders clenched her hands into fists and gritted her teeth. Dealing with an AI like Serina had it its ups and downs, but they mostly worked things out for the better of the crew. She tried to return Serina's sass with an authoritative demeanor of her own, but dealing with 49 Contrite Variant was like telling a child genius to stop doing astro-navigation calculations and just go to bed. It some ways, it reminded Ellen of herself. She sighed again. "I need to fix the problem I created."

"So . . . redemption?"

Ellen looked curiously at the machine. "Sure."

"Then I stand by, ready to assist," the Monitor said with a renewed vigor she found a bit alarming.

To say this AI was _odd_ was an understatement, but the word best summed up her experience so far. Returning to the keypad, she quickly found the security protocols. "Just be quiet for a moment."

"Oh," Contrite said. "As you wish."

Ellen rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder and got to work. She began to restore power to the archaic security cams stationed at key junctions and rooms aboard the ship.

Just as the fish-eye view into the ventral hatch room popped up on screen, the comm crackled to life. "Professor? Any progress?"

Through the fuzziness of the video feed, Ellen could easily make out the three Spartans and the dozen or so marines making their rounds over the dead Covenant troops. And there were a lot of bodies. Ellen cleared her throat. "I've got a visual on your team," she informed Spartan 092.

Jerome looked up at the opposite corner of the room, then finally spotted the security camera and nodded. "Good, can you lock down this room? I doubt the Covies will attempt the same entrance twice, but better safe than sorry."

Ellen pulled up another program, checking to see if she could carry out such a command from her station. As expected, an error message came up, alerting her that she didn't have authorization. One thought that quickly died out was to go grab _Tradewind_'s acting-captain and have him enter his passcode, but she figured he should be left alone for now. _Still, fail-safes should be in place_. She keyed her comm. "The only way I can get those blast doors closed is if there's significant atmospheric venting."

The warped image of 092 shifted as he pulled something off his belt and hefted it in his hand. "That won't be a problem."

"And why- oh, great," Ellen murmured when she recognized the fragmentation grenade. "That's one way of doing it."

On screen, the UNSC team filed out, while 092 placed a single plasma grenade on top of the pile of dead Grunts lying under the hatch. A moment later, with the room void of humans, a blurred, round object flew into the room, landing just behind the Uggnoy. With a blinding white flash, the camera's feed cut off, followed by a muffled rumble Anders felt through her boots.

"That should do it."

Ellen called up the lockdown program and sure enough, the hatch room's blast doors had closed shut. Anders was about to protest over the use of explosives inside such an old ship when static blared over the comm. She hastily tried to scrub the frequency and managed to limit the amount of white noise. She couldn't tell if someone was trying to contact her, but since she had just been speaking with the Spartan she figured Captain Cutter was trying to reach her. "_Spirit of Fire_?"

* * *

"Gone?" Cutter searched the stars, looking for some hint of a slipstream entrance.

"No sign of the Covenant Cruiser, Sir," the sensors officer said, sounding confused. "It must have jumped."

James shook his head. _There should be one way to verify_.

"Professor, can you heard me?" James asked over the busy sounds of the bridge. All hell might not have broken loose, but people were still scrambling about, fueling a sense of panic. "Communications, can you tighten our transmission?"

The comms officer nodded and the static dissipated somewhat.

"I can barely hear you, Captain," Ellen Anders said. Oddly, when her voice sounded over the bridge speakers, the crewmen quieted down.

"Professor, can you get anything up on _Tradewind_'s sensors?" James asked.

"I'll try," she replied, sounding agitated.

"092, report," he ordered, switching gears.

When Spartan 092 spoke, the bridge nearly fell silent. "We were able to eliminate the attackers, Sir."

Cutter passed up the chance to breathe a sigh of relief, not fully knowing how or why the cruiser had left.

"We'll regroup at the Starboard Docking Bay," 092 continued.

"Very well, Spartan." James glanced at the main viewscreen, finding it void of anything but rocks and rubble. But no Covenant ships were seen. Frowning, he turned to the sensors officer. "Did those Phantoms jump as well?"

The officer nodded. "It appears so, Sir. Either that or they returned to the cruiser before it entered slipspace."

Cutter's expression deepened. The latter would have been nearly impossible, and the former made the most sense. _But why would they have left as quickly as they arrived?_ The Captain had never faced a Covenant force that ran at the first sign of trouble, let alone drop off a squad of troops to be slaughtered and then call it a day. The fact that their sensors were blinded by the debris cloud the enemy lasers had kicked up during the cruiser's escape made detecting the slipstream rupture out of the question. Usually there is a burst of radiation, but if the whole in slipspace was small and fast enough, it wouldn't render on their sensors even after clearing the dust and magnetic distortion the cruiser had created.

Anders' voice came over the bridge speakers. "Captain, of what little resources I could restore, there appears to be nothing on the radar but you."

James didn't like this one bit. The speed of the enemy's response to the EMP was amazingly fast, and if the Covies were to return, they'd sure as hell bring a fleet with them. And that was something Cutter did _not_ want to stick around for. "Ground Team, the cruiser is gone along with the Phantoms." He sighed. "Prep for evac. We're not going to get ambushed."

Even through the comm distortion, 092's voice sounded puzzled. "They just left?"

"Not before leaving us with a few parting gifts," Cutter said dryly, scanning his eyes over the damage reports. "We'll bring the _Spirit of Fire_ into the clearing the cruiser made and send some Pelicans down for quick transport off that ship."

"Captain," Anders interjected. "What about our reason for stopping here in the first place? We can still use _Tradewind_'s FTL drive. It should be easy enough to remove."

"The main reason was to respond to a distress call, Professor," Cutter rebuked mildly. _Still, even running at full speed, the Covies would surely spot us against the blackness of space_. If they could extract the FTL drive from _Tradewind_ and at the very minimum get it aboard, they stood a good chance of getting out of this alive. _And return home_.

"Bradley," he called over his shoulder.

The engineer was at his side in a flash. "Yes, Sir?"

"Report to Chief Engineer Prescott and tell him he's got a job to do," Cutter informed.

Bradley smiled. "Yes, Sir," he said with a pinch of enthusiasm. He was through the exit and running down the corridor before James had even turned back around.

"Professor," he said into the comm. "I'll be sending down a team to help with the drive's removal. Please help them in any way."

"Absolutely, Captain."

"Helm, bring us in. And alert Medical. We'll be having a few extra guests that have been in Cryo for far too long." He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's make this quick, people. Time is of the essence."

Even as he silently watched the bridge crew carry out his orders, James still felt the stirring in his stomach that something wasn't right. Maybe it was an effect from the thaw. _Or maybe it was warranted_.

* * *

"Seriously?" the tiny voice said in his ear.

Nathan flipped his HEV's secondary monitor over to the receiving channel and wasn't surprised to see Toril Holmen as the source. "Copy, Control. Standing down," he said for his squad, wanting to defuse the situation as quickly as possible.

He exhaled a weary sigh and keyed the hatch open. The hydraulics hissed and he climbed out to find the row of ODSTs filing out of the room looking rather annoyed- and rightfully so. In the military, one was used to being ordered about, doing things without question, but this back and forth, stand-up-sit-down gambit was loosing its charm. He heard the soldier to his left grumble a complaint.

"They just need to make up their minds once and for all or just shoot us into vacuum," the ODST griped.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, but the expression was lost underneath his helmet. "You know how unpredictable these things can be," he admonished lightly.

"Eh," the soldier waved Nathan an unpleasant hand gesture and marched off.

Shaking his head, Nathan looked down to his right to see a certain pod, Toril's, unopened. He dialed in a personal line to her HEV on his comm and walked over. Immediately his ears filled with what was most likely curse words in her native tongue. He cringed at the vehemence in her voice but tapped on the pod's glass window nonetheless. "You okay in there?"

The swearing cut off, followed by a sigh through clenched teeth. "Go away," she said tiredly.

Nathan pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair, relishing in the relief it brought. "There's no where to go," he replied, deciding to probe her underlying demeanor.

That response elicited the glass on Toril's pod to opaque, blocking any visual contact. "Find somewhere."

He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight to his right leg, holding his helmet by the brim. "I think here is where I need to be." He rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of his own statement. _What a stupid thing to say!_

Without warning, the HEV's hatch snapped open, narrowly missing his face and sending Nathan to tumble backwards and land on his rear. Still sitting in her pod, Toril gripped the handles above her head, looking as if she would fly out feet first. But her body sagged and she slumped back down. "Please, just leave me alone," she said quietly, no longer transmitting over the comm.

Trying to play it cool, Nathan sat up and bent his knees, placing his forearms casually over them. His eyebrows met together but he softened his expression with a smile. "There's obviously something going on with you. If you tell me, maybe I can help."

Toril snorted, the sound coming out more nasally than normal. She was still wearing her helmet, but at least she had depolarized it. "You don't get it, do you? When someone says they want to be alone, that's when you leave."

Nathan felt color rising to his face. "I know, and if you really want me to go, I will," he said with a wince, hoping she would give in just this once.

Her gaze lifted to his, the blue irises contrasting with his brown. Toril narrowed her eyes as she studied his sincerity. Nathan could read a distant pain behind those beautiful eyes and wondered if he may have opened a wound she didn't feel like sharing. He panned his head around to find the room empty, and started to sense that he too should probably go . . .

She visibly swallowed and lifted her chin. "What makes you think I can trust you?" she asked cautiously.

Blinking in surprise at the turn in her tone, he set his jaw before speaking. "Holmen, I know you're new to being an ODST, but things are a little different here. We're a family, more so than marines. My squadmates are my brothers," he pursed his lips for a second, "and you are my sister." He tucked his right leg underneath the other. "So if there's something you need to talk about, I'm here."

Toril's head lolled to the left. "You really mean that, Parker?"

"Of course. Sometimes talking through an issue is the best way to feel better about it," mentally he cringed at his choice of words. In his mind, Nathan was coming off as an idiot.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "No, I mean the whole sister-brother thing." She sighed. "Can we really be like that?" she asked with half a frown.

Nathan felt his stomach tighten. Deep down he knew he would like nothing more than to invite her into his quarters for some "R & R", but the way she asked her question meant friendship was possible and nothing else. His emotions were conflicting with one another as he stared at her partially obstructed face. On one hand, he desired the intimacy. But on the other hand, he truly wanted to help Toril, even at the cost of a romantic pursuit. "Yes," he replied with difficulty, as if the word was oozing out a meat grinder.

Toril's expression softened and she actually smiled at Nathan. "Okay."

Nathan mimicked her smile. "Okay."

Toril leaned forward and lowered herself in her seat, situating herself as if to take a nap.

"So . . ." Nathan trailed off, not really understanding her change in comfort.

"Don't press your luck, Parker," she said, nearly laughing. "I'd say this is a good start. Let's not ruin it by going any further."

He opened his mouth to speak but immediately thought otherwise and clamped it shut, not wanting to loose any ground he made by ruining it with a quick comment. Instead, he stood up and gave her a casual salute. He spun on his heel to go.

"Parker?"

His brow furrowed as he turned back around. "Yeah?"

Toril gave him another rationed smiled. "Thanks."

He nodded and started for the ready room, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

* * *

By the time Jerome had returned to the Starboard Docking Bay the place was buzzing with activity. Four Pelicans had managed to squeeze in around the still immovable dropship, and medical staff were pouring out of the UNSC ships. He sent Alice and Douglas off to escort those that would retrieve the 19 frozen _Tradewind_ crewmembers.

Even as more marines filed out of one Pelican, Jerome still felt uneasy about everything. The firefight in the hatch room was short and to him it ended a little too quickly. _And then the Covies just leave?_ He shook his head, and made his way over to Anders, standing by the lone console in the bay. In his mind, he couldn't figure out why a shipmaster wouldn't at least patrol the area of the engagement before committing troops for a ground assault. Odd as their tactics usually were, this didn't make any sense.

He came to a stop to Anders' right, stepping in between her and the Monitor. "Thanks for the help back there." He glanced at the screen, noticing a sensor sub-program of the mapping ship was running. Either she was as skeptical of the Covenant leaving as he, or she had just left it up for lack of nothing better to do. "Still scanning?"

Anders shrugged without looking at him. "This ship may be old, but its sensor equipment was top-notch when it was built." She waved a hand to the screen. "Might as well be on the look out."

"Find anything?" Jerome asked.

"I'm getting some weird readings on gaseous clouds." Anders leaned on the console, using her hands to support her weight. "But if I focus the spectrometers for more than a few seconds, the program freezes up and I have to start all over."

"Your readings are probably due to the cruiser's laser blasts exploding those smaller asteroids out there."

Both the Spartan and Professor turned towards the source of the voice. It was a young man with a mop of red hair tucked underneath an engineer's cap. "And you are?" Jerome asked.

"Engineer Jonathan Bradley, Sir." He held out a hand and gave the Spartan a surprisingly firm handshake. "The Captain sent me down to retrieve the FTL drive," he nodded to Anders, "with your help, of course."

Jerome frowned. "Where's Prescott?"

"Getting ready to do the math," he answered with a grin. "Assuming _Tradewind_'s drive is still operable, there's a lot of voltages and amperes we need to check. Once we have everything verified, a pair of Pelicans can pick up the FTL drive and we will finally be on our way."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Anders said with a little more cheer than usual. "Shall we get started?"

The engineer smiled again but his eyes glanced over at Jerome. "The Captain wants our team to have an escort. Who should we ask about that?"

"Follow me," Jerome replied. "The med team will need all the help they can get. No sense in pulling away any more marines than needed."

"Good." Bradley waved a half dozen techs over, each holding some form of electronic equipment. "Lead the way."

Before Jerome was half way turned around, the Monitor quickly moved to block their path. "Do I understand you correctly in saying that you will be leaving soon?"

Jerome exchanged a glance with Anders who frowned. "Yes. We're getting out of here," she said, her words coming out slowly.

Contrite Variant perked up and his eye glowed a little brighter. "Wonderful!" He seemed to vibrate where he floated for a half second. "There. I've uploaded the location of Installation B-23 to your computing device. We should hurry."

Jerome noticed the Professor gasp when she heard her datapad sound a negative tone. She pulled the device from her pocket and frowned. "You just completely filled up my memory," she growled.

Fed up with the machine's antics, Jerome reached out with lightning-fast reflexes and grabbed the lower chassis of the Monitor, pulling it closer. "Look, Glowrod. You've done enough already. If you think you can use the _Spirit of Fire_ as your own personal MagLev train, you're wrong." He let go, giving Contrite Variant a slight shove. "You stay here, touch nothing, and we'll _consider_ taking you with us. Is _that_ clear?"

The Monitor was silent for the span of a long exhale. "Of course, Reclaimer." Contrite Variant sputtered away, lifting high above the Pelicans to hover between the cross beams supporting the bay's ceiling.

Jerome looked back at Anders, willing to argue his method of interaction. But she merely sighed with a understanding smile and motioned for him to lead.

* * *

After the first twenty minutes of successful evacuation of the _Tradewind _survivors, Captain Cutter exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. His crew was moving with the efficiency he had expected, shaving ten minutes off the original estimates to get the Cryo Room emptied. He had dispatched a group to retrieve the logs and anything else the techs deemed vital from the auxiliary bridge, and they were almost finished.

And the most thrilling news of all: Chief Engineer Prescott had given Cutter the green light on the FTL drive. "While it is an old model, I'm positive we can adapt it to our power conduits," the aging man had said. Prescott was older than James, but still had his bearings in place. While some men his age would have gone senile by now, Prescott showed no signs of instability. If he says he can get something done, he gets it done.

And with that wonderful transmission, two Pelicans were en-route to _Tradewind_'s stern where they would extract the drive and return it to the _Spirit of Fire_.

_And once we've installed the new drive, we'll be on our way home_. James felt a tightness in his throat and swallowed past it, quelling the emotions that were struggling to water his eyes. _Mary how I have missed you_.

It had been far too long since the Captain had corresponded with his wife, and he, like everyone else aboard with family, was praying that the galaxy had not given up all hope for their return. He knew the UNSC would classify them as MIA at best, but the thought that Mary and his daughter Ruth could go through such unneeded suffering was plucking at his heart strings. Up until now, he had tried to place the worry into the back of his mind, but now with the possibility of returning home in their grasp, he wondered if they would have moved on with their lives. _How long would they wait? Would Mary accept my lost fate and return to Earth to live with her sister? Had Ruth finally married that marine medic she had been dating for two years?_

So much could have happened, and yet it was all out of his control. With another swallow, he mentally pushed aside those questions, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. James motioned to the main viewscreen. "Bring up the feed from those Pelicans."

The screen split into two views, both slightly off from each other, giving the impression the visuals were coming for a single, cross-eyed individual.

"Delta 749, what's your ETA?" Cutter asked into the comm.

"Forty seconds, Sir," the male pilot answered quickly.

"Everything's prepped and ready to go," Bradley informed from _Tradewind_'s drive room. "Opening the outer doors."

"Glad to hear it," James said with a smile. "Ground Team, how's the rest of the evacuation?"

"The last medical transport just left," Spartan 042 responded for the other two. "Aside from the first three squads in the docking bay, the team in the aux bridge, and those at the aft end, all personnel are off _Tradewind_."

"Good." Cutter returned his attention to the main viewscreen. "Delta 749, let us know if-"

Suddenly, the image on the right belonging to Delta 750 vanished only to be replaced by static. A terrified gasp echoed over the bridge. "_Spirit of Fire_, we-"

But Delta 749's feed was cut off with an audible crackle.

"Multiple contacts!" the sensors officer yelled, switching the main screen to a tactical one. "Three Phantoms just took out our Pelicans!"

Cutter's eyes grew wide when the faint flicker of a ship coming out of active camouflage appeared at the top edge of the forward viewport.

"Enemy cruiser right above us!" an officer hollered in a panic.

"Oh no," James breathed. He never would have thought a Covenant ship that size could have the means to cloak, but sure enough, the vessel had materialized out of nowhere. Cutter's mouth went dry.

The Covenant Cruiser was back. And it had the _Spirit of Fire_ locked in its sights.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Ardent fire erupted along the top of the _Spirit of Fire_ as wave after wave of plasma burned into the upper decks. The ship rocked from the sudden and violent attack, causing all manner of warning lights and klaxons to blare over the bridge.

"Return fire!" Cutter belted out as he clutched to the arms of his command chair.

The recognizable thump of the main guns sounded diminished compared to their usual staccato, and James soon got his answer as to why.

"Multiple hull breaches!" someone yelled from the crew pit, bringing up the damage reports on a secondary screen. "They've taken out most of our deck guns."

"Concentrate all fire on their turrets," James instructed, knowing that the attempt at retaliation was futile. _Think, James, think_. He watched as the damage assessment lit up the upper portions of his ship, bathing decks 23 and 24 in blood red. He searched his memory banks for some form of tactic he had been instructed long ago in his Naval training, but nothing was coming to mind.

Already, the cruiser had successfully taken out all but five main deck guns, leaving his flank point defense weaponry his only real defense. And even those guns were strained to their maximum height. He slammed a fist down. _I've been played the fool. I should have been more cautious, more skeptical that the Covenant were really gone_. In all his years of service, Cutter had never seen a Covenant ship that size be able to cloak, but his lack of engagement with such devices was no excuse for his inability to recognize the sick feeling in his gut that something wasn't right.

_But inaction is what gets people killed_.

He watched as the large deck guns opened up, their recoil sending static tremors over the visual feeds. And when the massive rounds struck the enemy's hull, the shields wavered and in some spots completely vanished. _Wavered?_

James frowned. "Sensors, what's their shields doing?" he asked, zooming his personal display in on the cruiser's hull.

"Uh . . . they're at . . . minimal power, Sir," the officer replied. He turned his head around to look Cutter in the face. "That active camo must have had a serious drain on their power reserves."

With a fresh wave of confidence, James brought his head up. "Is the MAC ready to fire?"

His female weapons officer tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's three-quarters of the way charged, Sir. It will take another three minutes for all four shots."

"Hmm." James worked his jaw for a moment. He knew as well as the alien shipmaster that this fight would be a slugging match. As much as the _Spirit of Fire_'s weaponry was disabled or destroyed, the once-colony ship was built tough and could hold its own against the partially-shielded cruiser. _So why did they attack us now? Surely, the shipmaster could have seen the fault that his cloak usage would leave him vulnerable, but at what cost? If the Covenant are up to something_ . . .

Cutter had to end this fight now, before the shipmaster wised up and called for help. He nodded to himself when an idea came._ Three shots will have to do_. James keyed in a direct command into the drop bays, alerting the group commanders there of a hastily-made plan and a thirty-second countdown. "Helm, turn us over, 180 degrees," Cutter ordered.

"Sir?"

"Just do it!" he bit out, already running his eyes over the newly-enhanced technical readouts of the cruiser and pinpointing the target zones.

He could feel the eyes of his bridge crew watching him, wondering if the old captain had finally lost it. But hopefully they could read the determination in his rigid posture and trust that he knew what he was doing.

Through the cumbersome maneuver, the cruiser kept firing, melting away armored hull plates and peeling back others as if they were ripened fruit. As the _Spirit of Fire_ presented its right side to the Covenant ship, the starboard guns unleashed a barrage, causing the shields on the cruiser to waver once again.

Drumming his fingers anxiously on the arm of his chair, James watch the stars rotate outside, swapping the asteroid for the enemy ship. He knew the_ Spirit of Fire_'s MAC was designed primarily for ground-based targets and didn't pack as big a punch as every other ship in the Fleet, but with the cruiser's shields being as weak as they were, he could definitely do some damage. And if his MAC gunner could hit the specified spots, it could indeed open up the fight for . . . unconventional tactics.

"Weapons, stand by to fire."

* * *

"Close the outer doors now!" Jerome yelled, pulling Anders back into the relative safety of the hallway. His immediate concern was for the health of those under his escort while his secondary concern was for the prize that they were after. But Bradley just stood there, open-mouthed and shaking at the sight of the Phantoms screaming down on their position.

The rest of the techs were bolting for the doorway, and one of them grabbed Bradley by the arm and tugged him along in her wake.

"Close the-" Jerome growled, and he plowed past the running techs. He lunged for the outer door release and pressed the button on the wall with an outstretched hand. A single plasma round burned down through the opening of the closing doors, melting the floor a few meters away from the dislodged FTL drive.

When the doors slammed shut, Jerome got to his feet and snarled. He had already been through this same series of events earlier today, and by all accounts he had had enough. "Everyone okay?" he asked, searching the worried faces.

Anders answered for them with a nod. "What now?"

Jerome frowned. The comm was already lighting up with all sorts of panicky chatter and he was trying to half listen while making up his mind on his next move. "Anders, take them down a few levels and lock yourselves in a room somewhere." He pulled out his M6 pistol and offered the Professor the handle. "Take this, just in case."

Anders excepted the gun without question and stuffed it inside an over-sized pocket. "Where are you going?"

Hearing the last transmission over the comm, Jerome tugged the MA5B from his back and slammed a fresh clip in. "The Covies managed to breach the Starboard Docking Bay. Alice and Doug are already engaged."

* * *

Nathan Parker could hear his heartbeat in his ears getting louder. From the inside of his HEV, he looked down past his feet where the blast doors had retracted and open space was underneath. _Open space? _He was expecting to drop down onto the crashed mapping ship where they would fend off the Phantoms and secure _Tradewind_ once and for all. But there was no asteroid below, only shifting stars.

"What the hell?" Toril exclaimed.

Nathan was about to verbally echo her sentiments when a dark mass rotated into view. His stomach froze instantly. "Holy sh-"

"All ODSTs, stand by for launch," came Captain Cutter's voice over the comm.

"He _can't_ be serious," Toril added, as the Covenant Cruiser filled their collective view.

From somewhere near the bow, the MAC fired off three successive rounds, striking the underside of the cruiser looming below. Nathan squinted his eyes to see the crippling impact the blasts had against the weak shields of the cruiser's hangar bays. The shields collapsed instantly, unable to withstand the might of the slugs, and it gave the ODSTs a clear view of the inside of the enemy hangars.

His squad leader, Gunnery Sergeant Gregory Williams, flashed into existence on his left display. "Our orders are simple: board the cruiser and disable it," he said with the usual disregard for pomp and circumstance. His head dipped down momentarily. "I've uploaded your nav computers with the LZ. Good luck and I'll see you on the cruiser."

With an extremely loud rumbling overhead, his pod began to shake. Then two short tones followed by one higher in pitch sounded, and he was jettisoned out towards the cruiser. All around him, Nathan could see other HEVs launching, riding on orange trails of flame. The small gravity bubble he found himself in was less straining than usual, and he felt as if his seat had dropped from under him.

Even through his nervousness, Nathan felt a fresh burst of adrenalin rush into his veins. Being launched in an HEV was flying by the seat of your pants, literally, and Nathan loved every minute of it. He never considered himself a "thrill seeker" but anything that helped to contrast his boring upbringing was a welcomed endeavor. It wasn't that he hated growing up on a farm, he rather enjoyed it, but one can only fix so many dairy processors with improvised parts before growing numb.

The Covenant was quick to react, and soon streams of pulse lasers filled the area around the ascending pods. The HEV to Nathan's immediate left was suddenly washed in a blinding red haze, and the explosion rippled a turbulent wave, causing him to adjust his trajectory.

A soldier's scream was cut off with static, but Parker pushed aside the emotional spike the loss of a comrade ushered into his heart and focused on the shaking red box that outlined his destination: the central hangar. Nathan twisted his pod around another destructive pulse, narrowly missing it. Trying to steer an HEV through a battlefield was akin to driving an Elephant into oncoming traffic on the Beltway.

He checked the distance to target: _300 meters and closing fast_. By now, the laser pulses had reached the limits of their usefulness and smaller plasma turrets started to light up the remaining distance. The crossfire was thick, but his pod was moving nearly as fast as it would have in atmosphere. A burst of pink energy flew past his port side and Nathan could feel the heat the plasma gave off, even through the reinforced plating.

A shrill over the comm brought his head around to starboard, and he spotted an HEV flipping end over end with pink fire burning on its port side. "Holmen?"

Through the grunting noises, he could tell she was the one that had been hit and was out of control. The turrets were no longer tracking her pod, but she was drifting way off course. Gritting his teeth, he readjusted his trajectory, nearly using up all of his thruster jets' limited fuel. Now both HEVs were heading towards what looked like a small, forward docking bay. Unlike the once-shielded hangars situated along the cruiser's underside, this bay was most likely sealed through a magnetic containment field.

"Parker, what are you doing? Stay on course!" Williams ordered.

"Holmen's in trouble, Sir," he pointed out.

"Get your-" Williams growled something under his breath.

Nathan checked his range to target and figured his commander knew there was no way to form up with the rest of the group. "Sorry, Sir."

On the screen, Williams shook his head in resignation. "We'll link up inside the cruiser."

And with that last transmission, Nathan prepared himself for impact.

* * *

Alice lobbed another grenade at the base of the gravity lift two dozen meters away as two more Elites dropped down from the Phantom. They both rolled to their left, but the blast had brought one of the alien's shields down and Douglas easily picked him off with a headshot.

"This is not good," 042 said over the racket of battle. "We're outnumbered two to one."

"We've dealt with worse odds," Alice offered, ducked back down behind the dropship as green plasma flew past. Fox Three's surface was quickly becoming a charred mass and would eventually leave Alice and Douglas without protection. _And the marines to fend for themselves_.

Shrugging more to her own thoughts than to punctuate her remarks, she cracked a wry smile. Her sudden promotion into the commanding ranks by Captain Cutter had left her with a stale taste in her mouth. Leadership was something you couldn't really teach, some people were just born with it. Being a Spartan usually meant barging into unpredictable territory or cleaning out an Innie nest with the trigger held down, not wiping marines' asses while they reloaded. If anything, Alice held to the dictum: lead by example. And as she picked off another Grunt with an M6 round through it's neck, she figured she was doing a pretty good job of it.

The two squads of marines were spread out behind the two, rear-most Pelicans, using the birds for cover. The two Spartans were running point as they tried to thin the enemy ranks before the marines got a crack at the Covies. The tactic was proving useful for the first minute of the engagement, but now the enemy looked as if they were gathering to overwhelm their position.

But the Covenant troops never advanced, and they seemed to be content with keeping the UNSC soldiers at bay. Instead, they fanned out, taking cover near a stack of heavy crates situated along the left wall, and started to provide a single Elite with suppressing fire while he hefted something unto his shoulder.

From Alice's partial view, she couldn't tell what the black-clad Sangheili was holding, but it did resemble a fuel rod cannon. "Doug-"

"I see 'em," he said, taking aim with his pistol.

An Uggnoy turned and spotted the two Spartans and opened fire with his Needler. Deadly pink projectiles stabbed into the side of the dropship and two of the needles hit Douglas on the forearm. He reeled away, plucking out the spikes before they could pop and do serious damage to his armor.

Alice spared another glance around the dropship but found the same response of needles. She turned back around, spotting six marines off to her right and one marine in particular. _Crap, what was his name?_ "Sergeant," she tried into the comm.

From behind both Pelicans two men poked their heads up and she waved one off. "You, have you men concentrate fire on that group," she ordered, pointing to the partially concealed enemy.

"Acknowledged," the sergeant said. The squad of marines shifted their fire from batting down the right flank to the designated targets farther away.

Alice spun back low, with Douglas standing tall . . .

But the dark-armored Elite had already pressed the trigger and the tip of his weapon began to glow a deadly yellow.

"Get down!" she yelled into her comm, pulling Douglas to her side.

The most unique sound Alice had ever heard from a Covenant weapon boomed over the _click-clack_ of the marines' assault rifles, sounding more like an amped up blender than it did a plasma dealing gun. Puzzled, she risked a peek around her cover. _What the_ _hell?_

The shouldered weapon was now glowing a bluish hue and had sent tendrils of light to reach out into the rafters high above. A stuttered cry rang out and Alice quickly recognized the sound.

"It's that stupid Monitor!" she exclaimed.

"What the hell is it doing _here_?" Douglas asked.

"I thought it was with Anders," she commented to a confused looking Douglas.

Contrite Variant was sucked into the mini electrical vortex, and the Sangheili stumbled backwards when the Monitor slammed into the shouldered device's glowing end.

"What do they want the Monitor for?" Douglas asked while switching to his SMGs.

But a glowing orb of blue landed at their feet to delay any reply Alice could muster. She could hear the tell-tale whine of the plasma grenade pitch upward even as Douglas scooped it up and tossed it back. The grenade exploded in mid-flight, and it was by sheer luck of the angle that Fox Three had absorbed the majority of the blast.

"Spartans, those Grunts on the right have you zeroed in," the sergeant yelled from behind the Pelican's rear starboard maneuvering jet.

They didn't need to be told twice.

Alice and Douglas were in a full bore sprint towards the Pelican when the dropship was practically bathed in plasma grenades. They dove to the protection of a landing strut just in time. Blue light illuminated the entire bay as shrapnel and burning bits of metal spewed forth. Alice imagined the explosion was deafening to the marines and even the Uggnoy, but it left everyone a little dazed. She shook her head to clear some of the fuzziness away and found Fox Three's hull crumpled beyond repair.

Already poking his head around the other side of the Pelican, Douglas growled. "They're taking it with them."

"What?" But sure enough at the far end of the docking bay, the alien group that had swiped the Monitor were heading up their gravity lift into one of the Phantoms. Alice swore under her breath. _What I wouldn't give for an M19_. She spun around the opposite side and spied the second Covenant group, this one mostly comprised of Grunts, continually laying down covering fire on the Pelican to her right, pinning those marines in place. As soon as the first Phantom was away, the Uggnoy started a casual retreat, walking backwards toward the lift of the remaining transport.

"Douglas," Alice warned.

"They must have got what they came for. No sense in them sticking around," he murmured. Douglas sighed and turned to face her, his pair of SMGs ready for combat.

Duplicating his sigh, Alice nodded. "For whatever reason the Covies want that thing, we can't let it happen. The fact that they came out here, knowing exactly where to look for it, is cause enough to deny them."

"Agreed. You up for a ride?"

"As long as you're driving." Alice took one more look at the retreating Grunts and realized she and Douglas had to move now. "On me." She moved past him on the port side of the Pelican and kept to a low squat-crawl to the nose of the ship. The burning hulk of Fox Three would mask their approach, but the remaining 15 meters to the lift would be an open killing ground. She just hoped that reciprocity was not in play.

With a final deep breath, she was up and running toward the flaming mass they would use for cover. Douglas was right on her heels and took a position back and to the right, as if he were a wingman in a Longsword. When they reached Fox Three's remains, Alice pulled out a grenade, held three fingers up, and then ceremonially counted down.

The Covenant troops never saw the frags coming. The dual explosion rocked Alice forward and she braced herself against the floor with an outstretched hand. When she recovered, she waved Douglas on. "Let's go!"

As if running on an invisible track, Alice first ran in an arc to her left, getting some distance on the remaining enemy but achieving an attack angle that broke their formation rather quickly. With the lone Sangheili in pieces on the floor, the two Spartans opened fire on the six Uggnoy, taking down the two closest to them. Alice kept her MA5B leveled, sweeping her fire across two more Grunts farthest away and wounding them. The aliens cried out in terror and gripped the places their dark armor was seeping out blue blood.

The last pair of Uggnoy turned to this new, unexpected threat in the form of an assault rifle and filled the air with green plasma. Alice tucked and rolled to her left, trying to reload in the process. But Douglas was fast, faster than Alice had ever seen him, and he crossed the distance to both targets in an instant. He brought his submachine guns up and simultaneously whipped the two Grunts across the face, snapping their re-breathers off and sending their unconscious forms to the ground.

He silenced the two injured Uggnoy with a short burst from a meter away.

Alice struggled to her feet and realized she had taken a plasma round to her right side. Her armor had absorbed most of the impact and she took an experimental breath. She caught Douglas heaving deep breaths and looking at her. "I'm fine. You?"

He lowered his SMG in his left hand to reveal a burn mark on his upper chest. "I'll live." He quickly looked up at the Phantom hovering a few meters above. "Hurry."

The pair of Spartans were a blur when they entered the bluish-green gravity lift. Alice was poised with her weapon as was Douglas with his. They rode the lift up into the troop compartment, finding it dark and nearly empty. Douglas reached out to a side panel and shut off the power to the lift with the back of his hand.

There was only one alien in the compartment sitting in a side jump seat, strapped in and ready for take off. It was an Elite that appeared to be wounded, as evident from the pool of blood gathering at his hooves. He brought his long neck up and flexed his mandibles in silent shock. Alice took one fast-moving step towards him and brought the butt of her MA5B down on his head with enough force to crush his skull. He slumped in his seat, never to awake again.

Douglas was already inside the cockpit and Alice had to step back when he tossed the dead pilot out. A single knife wound across the Sangheili's neck was proof that he wouldn't be trouble anymore.

She plopped down in the copilot's seat and strapped in, watching Douglas study the controls. "You remember how to fly one?"

"Just give me a minute," he said, sounding like a child to a concerned parent. He finally pressed a few buttons and grabbed the flight stick. "You want to pick up anyone else?"

Glancing out the cockpit's window, she saw the first Phantom well on its way to the cruiser. She bit her lower lip. "No. The more time we waste, the sooner they'll figure out our little charade and blow us from the sky."

"That's if our own ship doesn't do that first," he pointed out.

The Phantom lurched into the air, nearly banging into the docking bay's ceiling, but Douglas got it moving forward. He pushed the throttle to maximum and sped away towards the Covenant cruiser, traveling in the first Phantom's wake.

* * *

Jerome rushed into the Starboard Docking Bay just in time to see a Phantom heading out. He surveyed the condensed battlefield, finding the dropship destroyed and two Pelicans offering shelter for two squads of marines. But what he didn't find were his fellow Spartans.

"You just missed all the fun," came a voice at his side.

Jerome distractedly took his gaze off search-mode and found a grinning corporal with a rifle resting on his shoulder. "What happened?" he demanded.

The marine caught the seriousness in Jerome's tone, and he straightened up to a more formal stance, his smile fading. "Two Phantoms arrived at the far side of the bay. Their troops outnumbered us, but they never advanced on our positions."

"Where's Doug and Alice?" he interrupted.

The corporal frowned. "Who?"

Jerome closed his eyes. "The two Spartans that were with you."

"Oh," the marine said, still wearing the same expression. He pointed up to the cross beams supporting the bay's ceiling. "Well, the Covies managed to capture that floating machine that the Professor was all buddy-buddy with and got the hell out of here. Your two friends commandeered the last Phantom and left in hot pursuit of the first one."

Growling to himself, Jerome took off in a sprint towards the magnetic containment field to try and catch a glimpse of the fleeing ships. Running past the mangled bodies of friend and foe, he noticed there wasn't much left of Fox Three. He mentally shrugged at the display of carnage.

When he finally skidded to a halt at the edge of the bay, he looked up to see the multiple flashes of HEV pods careening into the underside of the cruiser. _Well, that's one way of doing it, Captain_. He searched the skies for the two Phantoms, but wherever they were, they were lost in the backdrop of the larger ships' firefight.

He keyed his comm. "Doug, Alice, you guys read me?" But it was of no use. Either they were out of range or they didn't want to risk giving away their location by broadcasting out in the open. He swore and returned to the group of marines.

But even as he opened his mouth to ask about the Pelicans, he knew they would never make it in the vacuum of space. A massive hole had been blown into the side of the one on his left, while the other transport had the forward starboard wing nearly torn off from constant plasma rounds burning through the flexible joint that connected it to the fuselage.

"Sh*t," he hissed through his teeth. He angrily bounced a clenched fist off the end of the damaged wing and the joint finally broke, sending the scared hunk of metal to the bay floor with a crash. He rumbled another curse and keyed his comm again. "_Spirit of Fire_, we need transport off _Tradewind_, right now."

A voice he didn't recognize, most likely an officer from Flight Control, answered. "That's a negative. We can't risk sending out any Pelicans at this time."

Jerome cleared his throat. "This is Spartan 092, requesting immediate evac," he tried again with a more aggressive tone.

"Stand by, 092," Captain Cutter's voice answered instead. "We're in the middle of maneuvers, but transport ETA should be around three minutes."

"Copy," Jerome said, sighing out loud.

Frustration and anger swirled around in his mind, and for the time being, he was trapped on _Tradewind_ while Alice and Douglas were off on their own.

And _that_ made his stomach turn into a frozen pit more than anything else.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"ODST groups 12 through 24 are away, Sir," an ensign called from the crew pit.

"Helm, continue to rotate us till we're upright again, and get us moving forward, full speed ahead." Standing facing forward, Captain Cutter folded his arms across his chest as he surveyed the growing list of damage reports on a diagnostic screen. The red script had slowed as the UNSC ship was finally able to return a devastating volley into the smaller Covenant ship's port side weaponry. Fire erupted along the hull of the cruiser, but just as soon died as blast doors and emergency protocols caught up with the sudden loss of atmosphere. From somewhere in the crew pit, an officer let out a short, victorious yelp.

As the _Spirit of Fire_ continued its maneuver to get out from underneath the cruiser, the battle quickly shifted from full-out engagement to both sides seeking to limit their own attrition. But James was able to spot a slight window of opportunity when the cruiser began to pull away from the asteroid. "Hard to starboard. All weapons, prepare to fire on their engines," he ordered, now watching the secondary viewscreen that was showing a rear view. _If I play this right, I could end this fight now_.

As James watched his ship make the turn he saw his luck evaporate. As if anticipating his own weakness, the shipmaster brought his ship's bow around and exchanged a few long distance barrages from his undamaged starboard side with the _Spirit of Fire_'s remaining deck guns. Neither did much damage as the distance separating the two vessels grew.

James frowned at the apparent retreat of the cruiser. "Sensors, what's their hull integrity look like? Can they still jump?" He chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping that his ODSTs could quickly overwhelm the Covenant on board and take the ship before it could slip away. _Those alien bastards were looking for something, and I need to find out what exactly they were after._

"Believe it or not, Sir, the enemy ship has only suffered ten percent power loss throughout her frame," the sensors officer replied. "But it will still have to clear the debris field around the asteroid in order to jump. There's too much magnetic distortion and rock to be able to accurately plot a course."

He nodded. "Weapons, keep them pinned down. Conical-patterned fire."

James let out a quiet sigh. For all intents and purposes, logical strategy would be to neutralize the target and get the hell out of here. But his gut instinct was telling him that he needed to find out why this mystery cruiser was out here all alone. If the ODSTs could regroup on the enemy ship then he would hopefully have his answers soon.

* * *

With his vision still spinning, Nathan Parker reached forward to key the hatch on his HEV open.

Then a muffled crash echoed in the bay.

Suddenly remembering where he was, Nathan's finger froze over the release button and immediately hit a few switches on his side panel, killing all unnecessary power to his pod. He leaned forward, trying to focus his hearing on the distant noise, but the rumbling thrum of the cruiser's engines masked any other sound.

When his HEV had passed through the magnetic containment field, his pod's momentum pitched him upward to bounce off the ceiling and land into the left corner of a second-tier, semi-wraparound balcony. The upper level layout was an odd design, using purple balustrades to support glowing pink handrails that separated the level into three sections, each with their own unique decor. Nothing looked utilitarian through his brief visual scan of the area, but then again anything truly alien never did.

Nathan figured the bay most likely served as a personal bolt hole for the shipmaster or a high ranking official. Either way, the banners draped down from the rafters still wavered in an artificial breeze, demanding respect.

Instead of popping off his hatch, he opted for the more silent easing of the hydraulics and crept out into the darkened upper portion of the small hangar bay. Retrieving his sidearm and SRS from his HEV, he immediately flipped on his helmet's VISR mode and scanned the area. The balcony was surprisingly void of any real activity and apart from his pod's dent left in the ceiling and the corner where it landed, he wondered if the enemy knew anyone was up here.

Keeping his pace quick but quiet, he ran to the glowing handrail and leaned his head out to peer below. Through the invisible magcon field he could see neither the _Spirit of Fire_ or the asteroid, only open space. To the right of the large opening was a row of crumpled crates . . . and settled on its side was Toril Holmen's HEV billowing a small cloud of black smoke.

Movement down and to his left brought his head around and he spotted two Sangheili guards emerging from an opened door carrying long metal staves with glowing blades at the top end. _Crap_. One of them appeared to sniff the air, while the other pointed to the direction of the crates. Instinctively, Parker raised his sniper rifle and magnified his scope till both Sangheili's heads filled the reticule.

Nathan leaned back against a circular support pillar, seeking to steady his shaky aim. But the Elites were already on the move, marching with their deadly poles lowered in attack position. Swearing silently to himself, he dropped down to one knee to rest his SRS on the handrail. While the move did help him line up a shot on the guard to the right, the glowing pink bar sizzled and crackled under his weight.

Both Elites halted in their tracks and craned their necks up to spot him, but Nathan was already squeezing the trigger. The first alien collapsed to the ground with a piercing shot between the eyes. He shifted his aim to the left and only found empty space where the other guard had been standing. Nathan lifted his head up and spotted the other Sangheili running for the door where he would surely be able to call for help.

Taking a few steps sideways to get a better angle on the alien's retreat, he aimed down the sight once more and fired. His first shot sailed overhead, striking the ground a few meters from the doorway. Due to the Elite's proximity to the flower petal-shaped door, it started to open. Gritting his teeth, Nathan fired again and the round hit its mark square in the back. With a gasping grunt, the Sangheili fell forward to the ground with his stave still in hand. The glowing blade extinguished, sending an audible crack that almost masked the last few reverberate reflections of the SRS firing.

Cringing at the loudness of his weapon, Nathan pulled his sniper rifle back and strained his ears for the sounds of approaching soldiers. But none came through the still opened doorway, and he let out the breath he had been holding. Whether the Covenant were tied up fight off the other UNSC troops or massing for an attack on this particular bay, Parker had to be quick and get to Holmen before anyone else showed up.

After a brief negotiation in sliding down a support pillar, Nathan was in a full-out sprint to Toril's HEV. He took a long stride to reach the top of one crumbled crate and found purchase with both hands on the next stack over. He pulled himself up over the edge and jumped down where the fellow soldier's pod had crushed the crates underneath. _Hold on Toril._

The pod itself was intact, but one of the hinges on its hatch was mangled beyond repair. Nathan grabbed the lip at the base of the hatch and pulled up for all he was worth. Even with all his strength, he was only able to crack it open. Pulling out his sniper rifle, he slammed the butt end down on the broken hinge a half dozen times. He stopped to examine his handiwork and found that the hinge had separated from the pod's frame.

Nathan tried prying it open once more and was able to expand the crack wide enough to fit a hand through. Blindly groping for the emergency release, he came across the embedded button. Preparing himself, he hit the button and hastily backed away. A few undamaged red lights flickered on in warning and the entire front part of the HEV hissed. Due to the warped upper hinge and the damaged state of the pod, the hatch merely fell open like an instrument case, spilling out Toril Holmen in the process.

"Toril!" Nathan was immediately at her side, cradling her neck in his hands. She was breathing, but her body was still lifeless. Pulling out his field medkit, he found the tiny bottle filled with a pungent odor. He carefully removed her helmet and brilliant blond hair fell around her face to frame it. Nathan paused with the bottle still in hand and just stared at her. Toril looked as if she was just peacefully sleeping, and the contrast of her beauty with the dire straits they were in caused his heart to warm and freeze at the same time. He gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead and waved the smelling salt under her nose.

With a sudden jerk that even startled Nathan, Toril's eyes shot open. She worked her jaw for a moment, seeking to produce some moisture in her mouth, and looked up at him. "Parker?" she said with a frown. She tried to sit upright by propping an arm underneath, but Nathan quickly forced her back down.

"Easy," he soothed. "You might have taken a knock to the head."

Experimentally, she brought her left hand up and felt around her scalp. Next, she pulled her legs up and tried her best to hide a wince. "I'll be okay. I'm just a little banged up."

Nathan eyed her suspiciously but did help her into a sitting position.

Toril lifted her gaze up, past Nathan's face, to stare at the unfamiliar surroundings. "Where are we?" she asked, holding up a hand to forestall his protest of her getting to her feet.

"I'm not sure. This might be a personal bay for the shipmaster or a dignitary," Nathan answered, watching her fasten her hair in a tight bun and handing over her helmet.

"Nice," she said mildly. Securing her helmet on her head, Toril bent down and retrieved her SMG and pistol from inside her pod. "Where's everyone else?"

"When your HEV got hit by a plasma turret, your trajectory changed and you missed the LZ." He gave her a weak smile. "You were in trouble so I followed you here."

Still keeping her head moving to the left and right to look past him, she snorted. "Well that was dumb."

Her snide comment nearly rocked Nathan back on his heels. "What?"

"Oh, don't get all defensive," she joked. "Now Williams will be missing _two_ members of his squad, not just one," she casually pointed out. "Have you tried raising him on the comm?"

"Not yet," he said, still off kilter from her comments. "Though we probably should try to maintain comm silence until we know how to get over to the LZ."

Toril nodded. "Don't want to alert the Covies of our whereabouts." Her head seemed to perk up, as if a thought had just occurred to her. "Then these could be useful." She unfastened two short, black barrels attached to her left hip and held them out.

Nathan frowned. "How did you know to bring sound suppressors?"

She playfully bounced the metal rods off his chest and smiled through her visor. "You boys never think past your next meal." She then brought her hand over her chest and gave a theatrical sigh. "I, on the other hand, figured we might be in a different sort of trouble."

His expression shifted over to a more confused look. _Why didn't I think of that?_ He hefted his SRS in his hands and stared blankly at the loudest weapon of the lot, second to a rocket launcher.

"Yeah, that thing isn't so subtle," she said with a smile. Toril reset her shoulders and shifted into the professional manner the situation demanded. "So how do we get out of here?"

Turning to look at the door from which the two Elite guards had come, he pointed at the dead bodies. "I already got those two over there, but that door will most likely be the source of more Covies."

"More _targets_," she corrected him. "What, so up then?" Toril asked while motioning to the balcony with her SMG.

"Looks that way."

* * *

Alice watched the distant leading Phantom disappear into the small, forward hangar bay, away from the compromised central bays, and pointed. "There they go."

Douglas gave a short nod. "I see them." He took their commandeered ship into a tight turn and gunned the throttle. "You think there will be a committee to greet us?"

Cracking a smile, she shook her head. "I think they had no choice but to head towards a bow docking bay. Cutter really gave them a sucker punch with the MAC," she commented. The two giant vessels were now breaking off from one another which meant self preservation was now seen as a viable tactic.

"You want to link up with the ODSTs on board before we go romping around?"

Alice pursed her lips. If all the Covenant wanted was to nab the Monitor and jet off, then the Spartan's allies would need to carry out their orders of disabling the ship. She personally didn't have the slightest idea how to do that, but then again, her expertise was in killing, not contemplating. Still, she felt a twinge of guilt for not reading up on Covenant vessel design more than she had. "No, I'd say we've got a Priority 1 asset that needs securing."

"Yeah. And if the Covenant don't know _we_ are coming, so much more the tactical advantage," he replied with a clipped, mocking tone, doing a fairly good impersonation of Serina.

Alice tilted her head in thought. "You know, it's times like these I kind of wish she were-"

"Don't say it," Douglas cut her off, flashing a warning stare. "Besides, once we land and drop out of this thing we kill some Elites, rescue the Monitor, and get the hell out of there."

"Simple enough," she agreed.

Douglas steered them gently through the containment field and settled their ship to the left of their target Phantom. The Covenant troops had already exited the transport and were regrouping just off the port bow of the ship, giving Alice almost a bird's eye view of the enemy. One Elite was barking at another and pointed off to the right. Alice leaned forward to try and peer around the other Phantom, but couldn't see what had gotten their attention.

"We better hurry, Alice," Douglas said, flipping a few switches on the console in the process.

"Wait, can you bring this thing's cannons online?" she asked shrugging off her restraints and getting to her feet.

Douglas reseated himself and quickly brought up a visual feed from the starboard bow plasma cannon. "Done."

"Good. Give me fifteen seconds, and then take them down." Alice patted him on the shoulder. "And Doug . . ."

"Don't hit the Monitor, I got it," he said in a knowing tone.

She smiled. "Mark."

Alice carried the mental countdown in her thoughts as she flew to the back of the Phantom. She quickly reloaded both of her weapons and made sure she procured some plasma grenades. She took a deep breath . . . _three, two, one_.

She activated the gravity lift and jumped down to the deck of the hangar bay. Alice hit the ground running even as Douglas rained down fiery pink plasma from the forward cannons. She saw two Sangheili take three quick bursts and their charred bodies fell to the ground. Another Elite tripped over one of his fallen comrades and Alice obligingly unloaded six pistol rounds into his torso.

Douglas continued to rake his fire across the floor, super heating large metal plates and vaporizing limbs that were unfortunate enough to be caught in its path. Billowing clouds of acrid smoke began to fill the area as Alice finally spotted Contrite Variant still attached to the odd device the Sangheili was holding, only now the Monitor was being dragged in the alien's wake. She quickened her pace towards her target just a dozen meters away and switched to her assault rifle.

By now a few Covenant troops were returning sporadic needler rounds and yellow plasma bursts, but it only help Douglas pinpoint those still fighting. Alice was almost within range when a hollow shot rang out. Her first thought was to suddenly find cover, but Alice faltered in mid stride when she recognized the sound.

It was a UNSC SRS sniper rifle.

Way off to her right, two Sangheili warriors toppled to the ground when two white streaks passed through helmet and skull. Alice traced the source by snapping her head up and around. Half concealed on an upper floor behind a glowing railing was an ODST. _Apparently_ his _squad has already made it this far forward_.

Above her, Douglas ceased fire, allowing Alice to quickly overrun the last Elite. The alien snarled a challenge, placing one of his hooves on top of the Monitor. He looked as if he was threatening her with Contrite Variant's destruction, and Alice skidded to a halt, her weapon up and ready to fire.

Whether or not the Sangheili in question had heard the previous three SRS rounds, he surely heard the fourth. The ODST was accurate if not subtle, and put the Elite down with a bullet through its temple.

Covering the distance to the lifeless Monitor in two seconds, Alice quickly deactivated the energy device used to capture it by depressing the trigger underneath the dead Sangheili's long-fingered hand. With a short pop and crackle, Contrite Variant's eye flashed a brilliant orange before returning to its normal blue hue. Disengaged from the device, the Monitor backed away from Alice and lifted up off the ground.

"It's okay," Alice said, holding up her left hand and maintaining vigilance with her eyes. "You're free now."

"Oh, my." After stopping his retreat, Contrite Variant gave an approximation of a nod. "Thank you, Reclaimer. I didn't realize that-" The floating machine stopped in mid comment and took in the alien hangar bay with a panoramic sweep of his eye. "Is this your vessel?"

"No, this is the Covenant Cruiser," she replied.

Behind her, Douglas landed hard on the deck and was at Alice's side in seconds, shifting his SMGs aim at the various smoldering bodies. "What a mess," he commented and nodded to Alice. "Is Cyclops okay?"

Either Contrite Variant didn't understand the jab or chose to ignore it. "So we are aboard a ship capable of entering the Slipstream?"

"Yeah . . . so?" Douglas asked slowly.

Alice could detect his frowning expression by the way he shaped his words. "But we need to get you out of here," she quickly added. The Monitor was looking back and forth between the two Spartans as a kid wanting permission to venture off. And she didn't like it one bit.

"Splendid! Then we can finally be on our way." And with those words the Monitor turned to go.

"Grab him!" Douglas yelled, reaching with both arms extended.

Alice took one long stride and lunged for the Monitor. Her hands made contact with its hardened shell and she immediately felt a jolt of pain in her hands that quickly ran up her arm. Little lightning tendrils played over her armor and increased in intensity. "Aah!" she belted out and let go of the floating machine.

Douglas abandoned his pursuit of the fleeing AI and caught Alice on her way to the floor. She had suffered a partial armor lock and her suit was now quickly dissipating the charge she had received. "I'm fine," she grounded out between clenched teeth. "Just get him."

But Contrite Variant was moving faster than Alice had ever seen, and the AI was already through the only door on the far side of the bay. With a resounding thud, the petal-shaped door closed and glowed a dark purple, signaling it was locked.

"Great, now we've got an alien AI on the loose," Douglas growled. He pulled Alice up to her feet. "You sure you'll be alright?"

She flexed her fingers and found the tingling sensation nearly completely gone. "Yeah."

He looked down at the dead Elites. "Who gave you the assists?"

A short whistle from above turned both of their heads around. There were two UNSC soldiers now waving at them, beckoning the Spartan's upward.

"Well what do ya know, ODSTs." Douglas picked up the long barrel-shaped device the Elite had used to secure the Monitor and inclined his head at the pair above. "You want to tag along with them?" he asked Alice.

She just gave a silent smirk and nodded.

After a short climb, the Spartans were face to face with the two ODSTs. Alice was slightly surprised to find them with very different postures. The sniper had his visor depolarized and stood with a rigid back as if he had a wooden stick straightening him up. The other ODST was a female who appeared almost casual as her fingers drummed against the barrel of her silenced SMG.

Expectantly, the sniper spoke first. "Corporal Nathan Parker," he identified himself. "And this is Corporal Toril Holmen," he said with a slight nod of his head towards his companion. "It's good to see you two."

"Spartan 130," Alice introduced herself. "Thanks for the help."

Parker shrugged uneasily. "I'm afraid I might have been the one that brought them here. I had already taken down two guardsmen."

Alice waved a hand to dismiss the thought. "No, we were pursuing that lead Phantom."

"And anytime we can get sniper support it is much appreciated," Douglas cut in. "Spartan 042," he said as he offered an armored hand.

The ODST shook it in return. "Then you're welcome," he said with a forced smile. His expression turned grim and he gestured toward the locked door below. "I take it you were after that . . . thing?"

"Yeah," Alice sighed. "It's an unknown AI that has been blabbering on about some mission since we found it."

"And it's what we're after," Douglas added. He brought his chin up. "We could use some backup."

Holmen stirred and mumbled something to Parker. The male ODST gave an abbreviated nod. "We have our orders, but since we're cut off from the main group-"

"Sure, you can form up with us," Douglas quickly offered diplomatically. He looked down at Parker's weapon of choice. "Though an SRS isn't going to be much good inside a Covenant cruiser."

"It sure did the job of saving your ass earlier," Holmen butted in with a pointed finger.

Alice watched the color in Parker's face nearly flush white and she suppressed a smile. Holmen was a sassy one and her unexpected demeanor was a little humorous. "Point taken."

When Parker realized the two Spartans were not going to rip the ODSTs apart for insubordination, he nodded. "Ma'am," he said to Alice. He poked a thumb over his shoulder. "There's several doors that lead out of here."

"Shall we?" Douglas asked, moving past the ODSTs to head toward the nearest arched doorway. If he was annoyed at the lack of respect by Holmen, he didn't show it.

Alice had only taken two steps when she heard the first tell-tale signs that the ship was maneuvering. "Doug?"

042's response was to bolt for the door.

It was then that the normal hum of the space-faring vessel picked up and the ominous tone of a Covenant Slipstream drive vibrated the floor underneath.

* * *

"Radiation detected!"

James Cutter's eyes darted to the tactical readouts of the cruiser. "What?" But his vague question needed no clarification as the enemy ship's bow lurched upward, it's nose pointing to the relative sky.

"It's going to jump," one of the ensigns breathed.

"Impossible, there's too much debris. The shipmaster wouldn't dare risk tearing his ship apart," another commented.

Narrowing his eyes, James peered at the secondary screen. "Sensors?"

"Confirmed, Sir. Slipstream rupture is inevitable."

Cutter pursed his lips. There was nothing he could do. If the shipmaster had truly lost his alien mind and wanted to jump in such a hazard environment, there was no way to stop him._ But maybe talking to him will reveal his plans_. "Open up a comm channel to them." He got a nod from the communications officer and he swallowed. "To the shipmaster aboard the Covenant Cruiser, this is Captain Cutter of the _Spirit of Fire_."

The main viewscreen flickered when the transmissions were linked, but the Sangheili captain did not appear. Instead, the image was of a single glowing eye that filled the entire screen. "If you will not return me to Installation B-23, then I shall use _this_ vessel," Contrite Variant replied bitterly.

Shock and confusion fought for control over James' facial features as the image of the Monitor winked out of existence. The bridge suddenly fell silent for a long, bated breath.

Finally, the helmsman cleared his throat. "Do we pursue, Sir?"

But even as words were forming in the Captain's mouth, the circular, sparking void of slipspace formed and swallowed the Covenant cruiser. And with it, two Spartans, nearly half his ODSTs . . . and a renegade artificial intelligence.

* * *

Jerome paced back and forth along the edge of the Starboard Dock Bay of _Tradewind_. His impatience was forming a knot in his stomach that was quickly brewing with the empty feeling in his chest, seeking to erupt into an all-out internal storm.

He could see the pair of Pelicans off in the distance swooping their way down to him and they seemed to be moving in slow motion. "C'mon, c'mon."

Jerome really didn't know how one would be able to steer the cumbersome transport past the cruiser's point defense systems, but he _had_ to board that enemy ship. _A Longsword would be better_, he thought to himself and wondered about making the request over the comm.

He started waving the approaching Pelicans down, all the while keeping his magnified gaze on the cruiser. The sleek enemy ship suddenly turned upward, making a mad dash away from the moon-sized asteroid. A large black circle blossomed just off the cruiser's bow, and Jerome knew his chances were now shot.

Multiple chunks of rock and debris followed in the cruisers wake, some fairly sizable while smaller ones dinged off the ship's hull. The slipspace rupture closed as quickly as it opened, leaving a large empty space in the thin atmosphere of the asteroid.

As the blast of the Pelicans' engines washed over him, Jerome dropped to his knees in defeat. Of all the battles he had fought with both Douglas and Alice, he had never been separated from them for long. Nor had he ever been without at least one of them within comm's reach. And now, that old demon of survivor's guilt was latching onto his shoulders, seeking to tear his armor off and seize his heart for good.

For the first time in a long time, he felt fear begin to swirl around in his skull. Fear he would truly be alone.

And he _was _alone, destined to deal with the guilt by himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Standing in the middle of the cramped storage room, Ellen Anders tucked a loose strand of her black hair behind her left ear and frowned. "They're gone?" she asked into the comm. "Why would the cruiser just up and leave? That doesn't make any sense."

Beside her, a tech grumbled. "Since when did anything the Covies do make sense?"

"I'll fill you in on the details once you return to the _Spirit of Fire_," Captain Cutter said with a weary voice.

To her other side, Engineer Bradley keyed his own comm. "Sir, what about the FTL drive?"

"We're sending down more Pelicans. I suggest you get your team back up to the Reactor Proper and get the drive prepped."

Once again back into technician-mode, Bradley straightened up to his full height. "With pleasure, Sir." He waved the other techs to follow, and they left the room to head to the lift lobby.

Tagging along at the rear of the group, Anders heard her comm ping a short tone, signaling she had a private transmission queued up. "This is Anders."

It was the Captain. "Professor, I have something to ask of you."

She came to a stop in the doorway as the others moved on ahead. Ellen just closed her eyes and waited. _What could be more important than fitting the FTL drive aboard our ship?_

Cutter sighed. "I need you to repair Serina, get her up and functional again." He lowered his voice down to a whisper. "I think we're going to need her before we reach our next stop."

Ellen's frown deepened but she considered the seriousness of his tone. "Sir, what's going on?"

He took a while in answering. "Just before the cruiser entered the Slipstream, that Monitor transmitted a message to the _Spirit of Fire_ while on board the enemy ship."

"Wait, how did it get aboard the cruiser?" Ellen asked, starting for the now empty lobby.

"That's one of my questions," Cutter answered. "He mentioned something about returning to an 'Installation B-23' and how he would go there himself without us." He sighed again, and this time she could hear his frustration. "I just don't know where that cruiser went."

_Why would it change from "Research Facility to "Installation"?_ Nearly freezing in her tracks, Anders pulled out her datapad and eyed it suspiciously. "I think I may know where they went, Sir." She resumed her trot towards one of the lifts and entered the center-most one. "The Monitor nearly blew up my datapad's memory with information on B-23. If we grab the memory banks from _Tradewind_, we could probably pinpoint the cruiser's destination."

"Very well, Professor, but I'll send a team down to retrieve the archives. I still need you to get Serina's systems up."

"Yes, Captain," she said as the lift car ascended. She pocketed her datapad and when the doors chimed open she found Spartan 092 standing there. Anders internally smiled when she didn't jump from his sudden appearance, but the way the armored soldier stood slack told her something else was going on.

He nodded to Ellen. "Ma'am, you ready to get out of here?"

Raising an eyebrow, she nodded in return. "The Captain wants me back on board the _Spirit of Fire_, ASAP."

His chest heaved with a deep sigh. "Then follow me to the extraction point." He waited till Anders was nearly squeezing past him before he marched on toward the Starboard Docking Bay.

Oddly enough to Ellen, the Spartan didn't leap out in front at a hurried pace, but rather stayed by her side. She mentally shrugged and pressed on, ignoring the small voice inside her head that was telling her to ask the Spartan if something was wrong.

* * *

Gregory Williams had been convinced at a young age that it was his lot in life to lead others on the battlefield. He had seen countless worlds and engagements, both large and small. But this- _this_ was a suicide mission. Greg would never question Cutter's orders, but something that must have slipped the old captain's mind was the chance that the shipmaster would flee the scene before the ODSTs could triumph. He immediately pushed aside the stray thoughts when he recalled in perfect detail how Cutter had beaten back the Covenant on that 'shield world', using Gregory's own unit to punch a hole in their defenses.

But now he was in an all out firefight in the heart of a Covenant ship- in the middle of a slipspace jump. "Watch that left flank!" he yelled to a young private. Greg lobbed another grenade at a fresh wave of Grunts that had just exited a pair of doors dead ahead. The frag dropped perfectly in the middle of the pack and managed to take out all but three Unggoy, which he quickly dispatched with his M6.

As originally planned, the majority of his unit had "crashed" into the central hangar of the cruiser, catching the Covenant off guard. It was a bold move, but the effectiveness of surprise was quickly becoming void as more and more enemy troops poured into the large, expansive hangar. He needed to think fast if he were to save his fellow ODSTs from the onslaught. A tap on his shoulder brought his head around.

"Sergeant Williams, Miller is trying to raise you on the comm," a corporal said with unusual calm.

Greg frowned, then mentally smacked a hand off his forehead. Sometime in the last few minutes he had accidentally switched off his communication device. "Williams here, Miller."

The fellow sergeant got right to the point. "Location?"

"LZ 2, pinned down between two damaged Phantoms smack dab in the middle of the hangar," he answered with disdain. "And you?"

"Slightly better at LZ 1. We've managed to rid ourselves of some snipers perched on the upper level, but they keep sending Grunts to halt any progress we make in getting out of here."

Williams looked to his left to stare briefly at the thick wall that separated the two hangars. "Where are you exactly?" he asked Miller, ducking back down and consulting his own virtual map. Right on cue, a red ping lit up on his display just twenty meters to his left.

"We're behind a row of crates along the North wall," Miller clarified. "You've got an idea?"

"Maybe." Williams took a quick survey of his soldiers, trying to find one in particular. "Private Burns!"

The redhead hopped off the line and was at his side in an instant. "Sir?"

A stray plasma round sailed overhead, making Williams bend down farther. "You have your explosives with you?"

Burns pointed a thumb at his backpack. "Enough to last till New Years Eve."

Greg cracked a smile. "Then let's celebrate early." He nodded towards the left-most wall. "Think you can bust through that?"

"Sure," Burns replied, but as he looked up at the never-ending barrage of plasma and needles, his face went a shade paler. "How do you propose I get over there?"

Williams gave the Private a frown. "Just set the timers and toss 'em over."

Burns pursed his lips. "Right, sorry, Sir."

"It's okay, we're all still adjusting."

It was true. Given the diminished numbers of ODSTs after the final battle on the shield world- and the fact that they were lightyears away from an outpost to officially commission soldiers, Williams, along with other group commanders, had appointed a handful of leathernecks into the ranks of the Helljumpers. It was as crazy as it sounded, but when a squad in trouble saw a Spartan come to the rescue, well . . . ODSTs were the next best thing. _Even if some of them aren't completely out of training diapers_.

"Miller, get clear of the wall's dead center. We're going to punch a hole through, then your guys lay down suppressing fire while we make a run for it. We'll link up at LZ 1."

"Copy that."

Even as Burns removed the cylindrical explosives from his pack and armed them, his face remained pale. "We're going to run for it?" he asked with a quivering voice.

Greg nodded. "Son, we'll be overrun with Covies in a matter of seconds. We've got little choice in the matter."

Burns swallowed but readied himself for the toss. "Fire in the hole!" He drew his arm back and was about the throw when a pink needle stabbed into his forearm right between the lightly armored plates. He cried out in pain, and clutched his arm with his free hand.

Only he had dropped the explosives in the process, spilling them on the floor to roll away in multiple directions.

The sizzling pop of the needle tore through flesh and synthetic layer as it burst.

The surrounding ODSTs were quick to react, turning around to find a fellow soldier in agony. But their heads immediately turned downward as the thin metal rods came to a stop at their feet.

"Get them clear!" Williams belted out, as he snatched up two of the explosives and tossed them at the wall. The other ODSTs, too busy to focus on the Sergeant's previous plan, just chucked their own palmed explosives into the onrush of Covenant.

The force of the multiple blasts sent the ODSTs to the ground in a daze. Williams ducked away from the cloud of dust billowing out of the unseen hole in the wall. Flaming debris and partial limbs of Unggoy fell all around their once sheltered area, as the full effect of the explosions could be seen. One of the already crippled Phantoms had its nose completely blown off while the other was a fiery slab of melted metal.

Greg swore to himself. If he had taken the time to examine the explosives Burns had pulled out, he would have seen the markings and realized they were of mining-grade. Williams was just looking for something that could slag a half-meter wall, not take out a whole colony of Innies . But the damage was done- literally, and his men were starting to come to. He did a quick head count and found each of his troops, and thankfully, all looked coherent.

That's when Gregory noticed the eerie silence. He poked his head above what was left of their cover and spotted a half dozen retreating Grunts. "Miller?" he asked into the comm.

A sputtered cough answered. "Holy sh*t, Williams. You _trying_ to kill us?"

"Sorry 'bout that." He glanced over his men. "Everyone okay?"

"We'll live," Miller commented with another cough. "Give us a second . . ."

"Sir, Burns is injured but the rest of us are okay," a corporal informed Williams with a nod. "Sir, I don't see anymore Covies."

Frowning, Greg stood up slowly and scanned the hangar. Sure enough, the last of the Unggoy were hobbling away from the blackened areas the explosives had created and were breaking for the last opened door. He pointed a finger at them and ordered, "take them out!"

The corporal's stuttered SMG fire was accompanied by a few others as they mopped up the last of the enemy.

When the echoes of gun fire died down, Greg finally heard the reason for the Covenant's retreat.

The hangar was venting atmosphere.

Somehow, one of the explosives must have tore through a weak spot in the flooring, and the hiss of air escaping through a crack was the sign. Warning klaxons blared as the doorway the Grunts were heading for flickered pink, telling Greg he had little time till the thick blast door would close and leave them to suffocate or freeze, whichever came first.

"Miller! Change of plans. Get your people in here, now," Williams barked, hauling Burns up on his feet by his collar. "Gentlemen, let's move!"

Without question, three dozen soldiers vaulted the burning rubble and joined the other group from LZ 1 in a dash for the slowly closing blast door. Burns was moaning the whole way but did match Greg's speed. The large silver door was half closed when the last of the ODSTs ducked through the opening.

Sergeant Miller tapped his visor twice to depolarize it and Williams could see the odd expression on his face. "Hell of a way to break an enemy line," Miller said, wiping the dust off of his chest plate.

Williams allowed the unit's medic to take Burns from his grasp and shrugged. "Hey, it worked didn't it?"

"Unconventional as always," Miller murmured. He turned to looked down the dim corridor. "So what now? I sure don't want to cripple a ship I'll need to use to get back home."

Williams chewed on the inside of his cheek as he thought about his options. At first, his mission was simple: plant charges along key energy conduit points and disable the cruiser. But now, a critical systems failure while in the Slipstream was a very, _very_ bad idea. With the likely endpoint being a Covenant garrison of some sorts, Williams concluded that they needed to take the bridge in order to bring the ship out of the Slipstream safely.

_A suicide mission indeed_.

"Miller, I don't think I've ever been on a Covenant bridge before," he commented casually.

Sergeant Miller shifted his weight to one leg and brought a tapping finger to his lips. "Come to think of it, neither have I."

* * *

Although Nathan Parker kept up with the two Spartans, he was mesmerized at their ability to stay quiet in contrast to his harsh steps on the hexagonal-patterned floor. Even his own breathing boomed in his ears and he forced himself to walk that fine line between calmness and alertness. Still unsure of his current weapon choice, he kept wanting to switch to his SRS, but the battlefield didn't really call for it.

The Female Spartan came to a stop at the end of the corridor where it took a sharp turn to the right. She slowly leaned her head around the corner and held up a fist with two fingers extended. She swapped positions with the male Spartan and he also poked his head out for a look.

Beside Nathan, Toril raised her SMG, but 130 held out a hand to forestall any action.

It was then that Nathan could hear voices shouting, followed by a growl and stampeding steps against grated flooring. He looked at Toril questioningly, but she merely shrugged. The sounds of the footsteps became more distant as the seconds ticked off the mission clock. _Covies mobilizing. But to where?_

042, turned back to face the three and nodded. "Let's go," he whispered.

They moved as one, keeping their weapons raised, Nathan with his silenced M6. He immediately noticed the abrupt change in decor when it shifted from the normal purple-on-pink to a more industrial look. The ceiling rose up by almost three levels with large piping and conduits running both horizontal and vertical. An eerie green mist was spewing from several large, circular containers, but the fact that they generated no noise added to the creepiness factor.

"This must be where they retrofitted the Active Camouflage into their design," Toril commented, her voice barely audible.

As he stepped out on the grated floor, Nathan realized the huge room extended downwards by several more levels. "Whatever technology the Covies are using, it sure does take up a lot of space."

The male Spartan led them across a catwalk, always sweeping his submachine gun in preparation for battle. He was holding something else that Nathan thought was a fuel-rod cannon, but he couldn't tell for sure. "With this much room dedicated to a massive cloaking device, I wonder how many actual Covenant are on board," 042 said with faint curiosity.

"You would think this would be located towards the rear of the ship, near the reactor," the female Spartan pointed out. "I bet we're dealing with a Spec Ops vessel," she added gravely.

"That would actually explain a lot," the male Spartan said. "A lone ship sent out to capture an AI? Sounds about right to me."

Toril tapped 130 on the arm. "What is that thing? One of ONI's newest toys?"

"Only the best," she replied playfully yet quietly. The female Spartan shook her head. "No, it was the device an Elite used to capture the alien AI back on _Tradewind_. It has a little tracker built into it . . . if Douglas is reading it right."

"I heard that, Alice."

_So they_ do _go by names_, Nathan pondered, but figured the numeric tags were still required by "little people" like him and Toril.

"You mean they have problems with their AIs too?" Toril asked, sounding slightly amused.

"I don't think it's a Covenant AI," Alice answered soberly. "And whatever the reason the Covies want the thing, it can't be good."

Nathan nodded. With all the ONI secrets out there, this was obviously something the two Spartans deemed necessary to solve with all haste.

Douglas waved them forward and pointed the barrel-shaped device to his left. "This way."

* * *

Relieved to finally be somewhere other than the bridge, James Cutter stood with arms folded across his chest, watching the two Pelicans touch down in the main hangar. The thick metal cables that were suspending the cargo slackened when _Tradewind_'s FTL drive settled down between the two transports.

Standing beside James was Prescott with datapad in hand. "It's in better shaped that I imagined," the Chief Engineer said over the roar of the mechanics and other crewmembers cheering. "We'll have it fitted in no time, Sir."

Cutter felt a tightness in his throat. Here, right in front of him, was the _Spirit of Fire_'s chance to return to UNSC-controlled space . . . and yet, James wasn't sure he could. He felt a shiver run up his spine as he replayed the last transmission from the Monitor in his head for the umpteenth time. Not only would he have to explain abandoning his ODSTs aboard an enemy ship but come up with a good reason why he stranded two Spartans.

Of course there was the fact that his ship was in desperate need of repair and how he would be heading into unknown territory- _again_. He sighed out loud. His actions were becoming a databook example of how to thin one's ranks, and the last thing he wanted was to loose any more of his soldiers. James knew the backlash from the crewmembers not wanting to do anything but head for home could lead to a mutiny. _And where would that leave us?_

"You alright, Sir?"

James caught Prescott's concerned look out of the corner of his eye. "What would you do, Drew?" he asked quietly. When Prescott's face turned to one of puzzlement, Cutter clarified. "Return home or go get our boys on that cruiser?"

The gray haired man shrugged. "I'd do whatever made the most sense." He tucked the datapad underneath his arm pit and held out his hands like a scale. "If we head to the nearest UNSC outpost, we could muster a fleet from Reach or wherever and hope our troops are still alive." He lifted his left hand higher. "But if we follow the cruiser as soon as we get this FTL drive installed, we could catch them off guard." He grabbed his datapad and started some calculations. "But don't get me going on crew morale. I'll leave that to the experts."

And with that final comment, Prescott waved the technicians over to start adapting _Tradewind_'s FTL drive to the _Spirit of Fire_'s empty Translight Engine Room.

_Morale. Was that all any UNSC ship survived on in this campaign against the Covenant?_ James shook his head and turned to go.

"Captain."

He spun on his heel to find Ellen Anders coming to a stop. Oddly enough, at her side was Spartan 092. "Professor, Chief," he greeted them.

Anders pulled out her datapad and keyed it for a transmission. "During my ride up here, I sifted through the data Contrite Variant gave me and found a string of galactic coordinates."

James raised an eyebrow. "That thing has a name?" he asked, pulling out his own datapad and accepting the coded information. "Any locations stick out as unusual?"

Anders nodded emphatically. "Yes, Sir. Arcadia was just one of a handful of sites within UNSC space, but there was one in particular that took up the largest cache of data." Both of their datapads beeped an affirmative. "That has to be Research Facility B-23."

Captain Cutter nodded slowly, working his jaw for a moment. The blur of activity around _Tradewind_'s FTL drive was increasing, almost disorienting, as James weighed his options once more.

"We _are_ going after them, right, Sir?"

Cutter's eyes darted to the golden visor that was the source of the question. 092 was standing with rigid posture, extreme even for a Spartan. James could detect the desperate plea underneath the calm professionalism of the super soldier's words. The Captain closed his eyes long enough to let out a sigh. He opened them again and gave a curt nod to 092. "Yes, we are." He laid a heavy hand on the Spartan's armored bicep. "And once the new drive is installed, we'll be on our way."

"Yes, Sir." Spartan 092 nodded once and marched on in the wake of Prescott's engineers.

James watched him go, wondering if there was something else he should say, but he decided to let the man be. "Anders," he prompted, turning back to face the young scientist, but her eyes were still on the wandering Spartan.

She looked back at Cutter and shifted her shoulders. "Yes?"

James eyed her with concern. Her hair had almost escaped the tie used to secure it, and her eyes looked weary. "Why don't you get some rest before working on Serina."

Anders brought a hand up to rub at her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I'll be okay. Priorities, right?"

He gave her a flat smile. "Very well."

She stuffed her datapad into her satchel and frowned at the crowd filing out of the main hangar. "Will he be okay?" she asked, gesturing to the Spartan with a tilt of the head.

James turned to spot 092 with his gaze downward. "I hope so, Professor." _I hope so_.

* * *

Jerome felt like a stranger looking through the glass of a storefront window. He stood outside the Drive Room, watching as an endless stream of techs and monitoring equipment were circling around the small FTL drive. All he could do was watch. Jerome never had any expertise with electronics, let alone higher physics, but he knew enough not to get in the way.

"This is amazing, isn't it?"

Bringing his visual focus closer, he caught the reflection of Engineer Bradley in the glass. "What?" Jerome asked disinterestedly.

"This," he replied, pointing to the interior of the room. "We're actually going to make it home now."

Jerome gave the slightest turn of his head and noticed Bradley wearing a stupid looking grin from ear to ear. He was clutching a handful of datapads to his chest with his eyes lit up like the bright lights shining down from the ceiling above. "Do you have an estimate of how soon you'll be done?" Jerome asked with fatigue.

Bradley looked up at him with a larger-than-life smile. "No more than another half hour." He bowed at the waist rather awkwardly and ran off down the hallway.

_Are all engineers this giddy about their work? Or was Bradley just filling his mind with delusions of grandeur by thinking they would be burning sky for Earth?_ He shook his head. Jerome wondered if the Captain would even bother to tell anyone the truth till they were at their destination. _That would be my way. Just tell everyone "battle stations!" as soon as we exit the Slipstream and they'd figure it out_.

He breathed a deep sigh and closed his eyes. He technically didn't have a "battle station" so the request would be irrelevant to him. Instead, he would team up with Douglas and Alice and go find trouble themselves. _But now, there really is no where to go_. He wanted to believe that the _Spirit of Fire_ would get to his fellow Spartans in time, but that twinge of doubt was eating away at his conscious like a starved beast. He wasn't sure if he was being too melancholy or if he was letting his past failures shape his thoughts.

He clenched his hands into fists and didn't bother trying to force them open. The pressure in his grip was strong enough to kill a Sangheili and toss its carcass into orbit.

Eventually, he unclenched his teeth and pried his fingers from his palms. _The past_. He had fought so hard to bury the memory of his first engagement into the darkest recesses of his mind, but now, his head was swimming with ghostly reminders. He shook his head violently to rid himself of the pain but only succeeded in bang his helmet off the glass.

The turning of heads in the Drive Room made him focus on something other than his awful memories. It was after someone gasped that he realized he had cracked the window. He growled and held a hand up in apology.

"Whoa, you okay?" It was Bradley again. This time he was void of datapads.

Jerome slowly turned to face the engineer and was rewarded with the shorter man backpedaling. "Finished?" he asked, ignoring the previous question.

As if switching gears on a warthog, Bradley perked up. "Yes, we are," he said excitedly. "The Captain's about to make the announcement."

"Great," Jerome said mildly and march off in the opposite direction, heading down towards an opened hangar. He really didn't care which, he just wanted to see what he figured the Captain would do next.

He wasn't surprised. Down in Drop Bay Bravo, he ignored the Captain's lengthy explanation of his plans blaring over the speakers- that was sure to ruffle some feathers- and stared down through the opening in the floor. Like a wise commander, Cutter knew to leave no spoils of war behind.

Jerome watched as the four tracer lines of the MAC gun targeted the remains of _Tradewind_ . . .

The quadruple explosions tore through ancient hull and rock, obliterating the old mapping ship in seconds. Fire spewed out of the dust cloud as the reactor ignited. Sparks and debris collided together to trigger secondary explosions which just as quickly burned out in the thin atmosphere of the asteroid.

As the last few chunks of warped metal turned into slag, the _Spirit of Fire_ vectored away from the wide crater that once held a UNSC vessel.

When the hum of the FTL drive vibrated the flooring, Jerome couldn't help but envy the ease of which the enormous warship had eliminated that which needed to be destroyed.

In his mind's eye, Jerome wished he could do the same to his own demons.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Alice was beginning to get that empty feeling in her stomach, and it wasn't from lack of sustenance. The four of them had snaked their way through the cavernous room without as much hearing another Covenant crewmember. Either all hands were preoccupied with the invasion of ODSTs or tracking down the Monitor wasn't that high on their priority list. She couldn't tell which was worse.

The two tag-along corporals were competent enough to keep a watchful eye on their six, and the female knew when to keep her voice down.

"What are the odds that this AI of yours is armed with defenses?" Holmen asked, stepping over a metal casing that had been knocked loose.

"It's not _ours_," Douglas said. "Didn't you see Alice take a good jolt when she tried to grab it?"

Holmen shrugged. "I just saw a brief flash."

"It's very likely that that thing can kill us," Alice offered. "I'd rather take the road of the Monitor being fully capable of deadly force than to hope it's permanently pacified." She lifted her chin towards Douglas. "Anything?"

The male Spartan checked the small holographic readout on the Covenant device once again. "I'm not so sure anymore. I think this little arrow points to the Monitor, but it could just be a North-South thing."

Frowning, Alice stepped beside him to watch the needle-like pointer spin in a confusing circle. She gave Douglas a quizzical look. "Maybe radiation leakage is causing interference?"

"Uh, Spartans?" Parker inquired in a low voice. When they turned to look at him, he pointed downward then brought his hand up to the side of his head, as if he was cupping an ear.

Alice focused her hearing and looked down through the grated floor. _Humming?_ She leaned over the side railing of the catwalk and could see a brief glimpse of the Monitor before it disappeared around another steaming cylinder._ Darn it_. She looked back at Douglas and found him pointing to a human-style lift at the end of the catwalk.

The four silently made their way over to the lift and descended a single level, fanning out once they hit the lower floor. Alice went left with Holmen, while Douglas broke right with Parker.

She led Holmen in a complete circuit around several towering cylinders, and found nothing but more misty catwalks. All the while Alice checked her motion tracker and was frustrated to find the AI's movements undetectable. But if the Monitor wasn't showing up on her HUD, then they were once again short of a conclusive end.

Always keeping her eyes scanning the area, she headed towards that last known location of Contrite Variant. With her MA5B raised, she stepped to the small alien console conveniently placed on a maintenance desk with an array of various tools and gauges.

A blur of motion brought her head up.

It was Douglas. "It's gone again," he sighed. "This is the console the Monitor was using, right?" he asked, placing the Covenant contraption down on the desk.

"Yeah. Think you can find out what he was doing?" Alice turned her back to his as the ODSTs took flanking positions to guard against any incoming threat.

"I can try,"Douglas replied.

_Try_. Alice smiled to herself. She knew of no one better, maybe aside from the Professor, who could interface with Covenant technology. Alice didn't know if Douglas was just a natural or if he had been given special ONI training on the stuff. All she knew was that _she_ had never had anything more than a crash course of terminology and basic hardware function.

Douglas swore. "He's locked this console." He paused his fingers over the keypad. "But maybe I can at least see what he's changed in the system using a subroutine . . ."

_More techie talk_. Alice focused her attention on her surroundings and tried to keep an awareness akin to the days of her training. She really did miss not having Jerome around. He had always been their leader, whether or not he agreed with that statement. She shook her head minutely. _Jerome never would have let that AI escape the hangar_.

"Got it. Now hold on . . ." Douglas said. The console beeped and a new image flashed on the screen. But Douglas' posture went rigid. "Uh oh."

Alice turned around. "What?"

Douglas pressed a few more keys and a star chart appeared. "The Monitor has taken control of the ship," he breathed, and pointed to the dots on screen. "And he's taking us somewhere the Covies have never been."

Alice watched as a dotted line connected their previous point of origin in interstellar space with a small, three-planet system that was unlabeled. "Um, where is he taking us?"

Douglas spun around. "Do you remember what the Monitor said about an installation?"

Her eyes grew wide. "Yeah, something with a numeric designation. You don't think he's-"

"Going back home?" Douglas completed for her.

Parker stirred to Alice's left. "If a floating AI can take control of a Covenant ship this fast, I'd hate to see what it's creators are capable of."

"We'll know soon enough," Holmen said mildly as she looked at the console's screen. "We're almost there."

A countdown had blossomed in the lower right corner of the screen. Although the unfamiliar symbols were ticking down awfully fast, Alice could still figure a decent guess of their ETA. "What do you think, Doug, an hour? Tops?"

She imagined the scrunched up expression he was wearing beneath his visor. "Probably less than that." He picked up the retrieval device from the desk and checked the readings. But when the console beeped in tandem with the locator's readout, he turned his attention back to the screen. A schematic of the cruiser overlapped the image of the star map, and a white pulsating beacon appeared on the forward-most part of the ship: the bridge. "That's interesting."

Alice frowned. "I think that thing just synchronized with this console." She hefted her rifle on her shoulder. "And we've got a waypoint."

Both ODSTs leaned in to stare at the screen. "The bridge is going to be crawling with Covies," Parker pointed out cautiously.

"Noted," Douglas said with an exaggerated nod. "But right now, it's where our target is."

"How did it get there so fast?" Holmen asked.

Alice pursed her lips. "I don't know, but something tells me the shipmaster isn't going to stand by and let the Monitor take over his ship."

"Uh, it already has," Holmen added with a nervous chuckle.

Douglas pulled away from the console. "Well, not completely. There's still breathable air and gravity, so it must want _somebody_ alive."

Suppressing a shudder, Alice nodded. "Let's just hope it doesn't wise up and start venting entire sections of the ship."

* * *

Two main corridors ran parallel down the length of the cruiser. Williams led his group down the starboard side while Miller's team went down the port side. This tactic accomplished two things: it allowed the ODSTs the most direct route to the bridge, and it gave either team a quick out to the opposite corridor if an attack was sprung. All in all, Williams felt it was the best way to take the ship. _Or die trying_.

For the most part, the Covenant were almost non-existent, which made everyone on edge. Williams and his team had only seen a handful of Elites that looked as if they had stumbled out of bed and into the corridor in a stupor. They appeared surprised that there were even humans on board, let alone ready to defend their own ship, and five seconds later, they were dead on the floor without getting a single shot off in retaliation.

"Miller, you have anything yet?" Williams asked into the comm as he stepped over a Sangheili carcass.

"Nothing yet," the sergeant replied. "This is getting a little spooky, you know?"

"Copy that," Greg said, not willing to break from the professionalism of proper comm language. Miller was a fine soldier, but he tended to revert back to the old-life wordage of his youth.

It was no coincidence that both Gregory Williams and Steven Miller were in charge of the two teams. They had both signed up for the Helljumpers at the recruitment center in Trenton City, Iowa, and were immediately whisked away to an orbital platform. They had gone through Basic together, but were soon separated to fill in voids of other squads. As fate would have it, they ended up back with each other on Harvest, helping to push the Covenant out long enough to give the planet a respite, even for just a few weeks.

They were never really that close growing up, but the military changes things. When fellow soldiers die the survivors tend to bond fairly quickly. Greg figured he and Miller had nearly polar opposite childhoods. Steven was from the troubled urban areas most governments try to prop up with tax dollars rather than fix the real problems, while Williams grew up on a strip of pastoral land his grandfather had owned. He was never a farmer, but he got his hands dirty at a young age, always playing War with his brothers and cousins. And now, that childish game was a mere echo of his years of UNSC service.

Miller seemed to take the role of a soldier almost too naturally.

"Contact," a corporal's voice boomed in his ears.

Williams held up a fist and waved his men off to either side of the corridor for cover. He ran over to his left to hunker down behind the relative safety of a protruding bulkhead. "Where?" he asked the corporal two meters in front of him.

"Thirty meters ahead; no movement yet."

Squinting, Greg flipped his visor's magnification on and peered forward. There was Covenant, alright: three Elites and four Grunts, all leaning against the corridor walls.

But none were moving.

Williams frowned. He shifted his view to the floor where the enemy stood and found it covered in charred blood, blackened by some unknown source. "Miller, we've got something. Nothing hostile, but hold tight."

"Copy," he sighed, not hiding the fact that he was a little disappointed that _his_ group had not found anything worth a call over the comm. "Don't keep me hanging."

Greg brought his squad up the corridor, keeping their weapons aimed at the motionless Covenant, and came to a stop near the edge of the dried pool of blood. To him, it appeared the aliens had been slammed up against the curved corridor walls and died where they stood. _But who or what had killed them? _Even their weapons were still in hand, but their eyes and faces were frozen as if they had been etched from stone.

He knelt down and plunged a finger experimentally into the once-colorful blood. Or rather tried to. The pool had melted into the symmetrical-patterned floor and was still warm.

"I didn't think any of our guys had made it this far forward yet," an ODST murmured.

Wiping the crusted blood off on his thigh, Williams stood up and paused when he remembered two of his squadmates. "Actually Holmen and Parker had veered off course and landed in a forward bay." He pursed his lips. "Much farther towards the bow than this."

"Well, it was one hell of a grenade placement," the ODST laughed. "Maybe they should request a transfer to the Artillery Division."

Williams shook his head. "No, a frag grenade would have torn through these Covies. See how there's no real damage to their armor?"

The ODST leaned in to get a better look at a Sangheili. "Huh. So what _did_ they use?"

Greg looked down at the frequency adjustment on his comm unit. Blown cover or not, it was time to hail the isolated pair of soldiers. But just when he was about to dial in his squad's personal channel, Miller's voice sliced in.

"Williams! We're taking heavy fire," Miller barked into the comm. "We could use some help."

Abandoning the scene of devastation, Greg raised his hand and circled a finger round. "Let's move; double time!"

Williams and his men quickly found a cross corridor that connected the two main corridors and sprinted toward the sounds of distant gunfire. "Miller, I need intel."

"Single enemy squad with heavy weapons. Took out three of my guys before we even heard them."

"Hunters?" Williams asked with a wince, silently wishing it wasn't.

"Negative. Just a pair of Grunts with Fuel Rod Cannons and a dozen or so Elites with an endless supply of plasma." There was a fresh burst of gunfire followed by a curse. "We've fallen back a ways to secure defensive positions, but if the enemy presses, I'm not sure how long we can hold them."

Still running down the cross corridor, Greg situated his thoughts. One option he had was to supply suppressing fire while Miller's team would break for the starboard side corridor and avoid the enemy squad altogether. But the likelihood of the Covenant having the same trap farther down the main corridor that Greg's team had just left was high. _No, if we have to break through to the bridge, we have to do it here_. "Alright, Miller. Hang tight."

"As ordered," Miller commented. "But be careful, Williams. They're wedged in pretty deep."

A click on the comm brought Greg's attention to his HUD's map of the cruiser. He slowed his pace and that of his team, and consulted the new information Miller had transmitted. The Covenant were held up in a large, oval-shaped gravity lift lobby that allowed access to two cross corridors with the portside main corridor. Centrally located were two cargo-sized lifts that were framed by four smaller personnel grav-lifts. And to complicate matters worse, the entire lobby floor was littered with crates stacked in various heights, making for a very difficult through-way.

In fact, it would be nearly impossible to breach.

"Ah, Sir? That's about as impregnable as it gets," a corporal murmured. "Why don't we just blow past them?"

Williams pressed his lips together. He now had a third option. If Miller's group could occupy the enemy here and make the Covenant believe it was the bulk of resistance on board, then Greg's team could press on towards the bridge relatively untouched. _Would that be the coward's way out or just the tactician's?_ He frowned. Mission parameters always came first in any engagement, but Williams had already been on the wrong side of that creed before and it didn't turn out well. If they left now, Miller's team would surely be wiped out.

Growling to himself, Greg depolarized his visor and turned around to face his men . . .

But then an idea sprang into his mind and he let a smile spread across his face.

"Sir? You okay?"

"Just fine, Corporal." He pointed to pairs of ODSTs. "You four, head back the way we came. We left something behind."

* * *

Steven Miller fired off another burst from his MA5B and ducked back behind the bulkhead just in time before a Fuel Rod round slammed against the corridor wall. "Say that again, Williams?" he asked in disbelief.

"When I give you the alert, my squad will fire on your team from a forward position and you guys retreat down the hall," Williams said for the second time. "We won't hit you; we'll just make the Covies _think _we're trying to gun you down."

"Yep, still sounds crazy." Miller looked back at his men doing their best to stay in cover while sporadically firing at the enemy line. "You know that when we make a break for it we'll be easy pickings?"

"Not completely," Williams muttered. "Stand by."

Growling, Miller switched his comm to his team's frequency. "Alright fellas, new plan. Get ready to fall back to position Bravo."

The turning of heads was as expected, but the ODSTs knew an order when they heard one. The portside corridor had plenty of smaller passageways branching off of it, but none were in the group's immediate vicinity. If they really wanted to make a fight of it they could have pressed forward and made it to a cross corridor, but the locked door would have given the Covenant ample time to cut down a tech while he interfaced with the panel.

Miller just hoped his fellow sergeant's plan- what ever it was- worked. He got to his feet, and prepared to make a dash for position Bravo. "Okay, Greg, whenever you're ready," he said to himself with clenched teeth.

As if hearing Steven's whisper, Williams' voice cut into his earpiece. "Now!"

The supposed locked door twenty meters ahead to Miller's right sprang open to reveal four charged and ready plasma pistols pointing in his direction. But the weapon wielders were not using the shaped doorway for cover, but rather angled themselves so as to be hidden from view of the Covenant line ten meters past them.

"Go now!" Williams hissed into the comm, and his words were punctuated by a discharge of plasma flying up into the ceiling near Miller's head. "Go!"

And then the realization hit him. "Let's move!" Miller yelled over his shoulder, mimicking the poor aim of the Covenant weaponry by firing his assault rifle at the wall on the left. Another charge of yellow plasma burned down the corridor to splash harmlessly on the floor, as Miller bolted back the way he had come.

And as if in wonderment, the deep thumps from the Fuel Rod Cannons ceased and the only rounds exchanged with Miller's group were wild pot shots from the small squad Williams had stationed with the loaned plasma pistols. Even at the distance Miller had covered, he could clearly hear the triumphant yell of the Unggoy as they vaulted over the crates they had used for protection. He risked a glance over his shoulder and found six Elites joining the smaller Covenant troops in a mad dash to get their weapons in range.

Miller allowed himself a smile._ Like hounds to the hunters_. He looked forward again to find the break in the corridor where it bent at a thirty degree angle just up ahead. _Almost there_. When Miller heard another Fuel Rod round fire he dove towards the ground. "Take cover!"

The superheated plasma flew over his head and exploded against the angled wall in front of him. The shockwave pitched Miller back onto his feet and he fell backwards against the corridor wall. Stars bloomed into his vision when his head hit, and the impact knocked the wind out of him. He slowly slid down the wall on his back, and when he came to a stop on the floor, he found himself facing the upside-down view of a pair of charging Elites, already switching to wield energy swords.

Blinking back the fuzziness, Miller craned his neck and spied the squad of ODSTs from Williams' group that had emerged from their doorway.

Only this time they fired at the enemy.

The two sword-wielding Sangheili stopped dead in their tracks when their shields popped from charged plasma bursts. The staccato of UNSC gunfire cut into the short silence like a knife and in a handful of seconds, Miller's team was clear of hostiles.

Steven let out an exhausted breath and relaxed his neck. _Unconventional, as always_.

* * *

The surprise attack was enough to tip the scales of battle as Williams' ODSTs spilled out into the portside corridor, unleashing a deadly barrage of bullets on the handful of Sangheili caught off guard by their sudden appearance. Expecting a fresh wave of allies from a previously unknown location, the Covenant troops were in disarray.

With the enemy line broken, Williams led the rest of his men towards the grav-lift lobby, firing away over the crates at the exposed Elites. He slammed a fresh clip into his MA5B and slid to his knees, using his running momentum to come to a stop at the row of crates the previous two Grunts had used for cover. He readied a grenade and chucked it at the remaining mass of enemy troops trying to break for the lifts.

But they never made it. The explosion rocked a stack of crates to fall and crush a retreating Grunt, while the other ODSTs mopped up the last of the Elites. Greg's gambit had paid off and the Covenant was routed.

"Defensive positions," Greg ordered, pointing to the fortified areas guarding the four main entrances. "We don't know if they've got anyone else coming." He squeezed past the soldiers filing into the lobby and headed back towards Miller's group.

The second team was already starting for the safety of the lobby, but William's noticed his fellow sergeant still on the ground, stiff as death. There were two ODSTs kneeling beside him and Greg picked up his pace.

The bubbling nervousness in his stomach subsided when he came to a stop at Miller's side. If anything, the sergeant looked . . . content. "Hey, Miller, you okay?" Greg asked, looking down from above.

Miller's visor was depolarized and his eyes looked up to meet Williams. "Oh, hey, Greggy. You get 'em all?"

Frowning, Williams nodded. "Yeah. How are you?"

Grunting with exaggeration, Miller pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. I'll be fine in a minute."

"Take it easy, Sir," one of the accompanying soldiers said. "You hit this wall pretty hard."

"I'll be _fine_," Miller rumbled. He waved the man's helping hands off and finally stood up on his own. His legs looked shaky and Williams could tell Miller was in pain by the scrunched up expression he wore. "Okay, so back to the task at hand?"

Still keeping his concerned look on Miller, Greg sighed. "If you're up to it." Deep down he knew there was no way he could convince Steven to sit this one out- apart from knocking him unconscious. He just hoped that the shipmaster waiting for them on the bridge would announce a surrender and call it quits.

* * *

"Approximately 124 hours, Sir."

James Cutter frowned as he paced back and forth in front of the main viewport. "At this short distance of a jump, I'd have assumed it would take three days or four, tops."

Engineer Prescott's sigh sounded like a wash of static over the bridge speakers. "_Tradewind_'s drive isn't as strong as our previous, but it should get us there in one piece."

"Five days," Cutter muttered under his breath. "Very well." James walked back to his command chair and switched off the small hologram of their plotted course to the unknown facility. "And Drew . . ."

"Yes, Captain?"

"Thank you for your hard work. Make sure you get some rest soon."

"You too, Sir," Prescott said.

_Rest_. James shook his head and plopped down in his chair. He was as tired from the engagement, but the day's events weighed down on him strong enough to keep his mind racing with thoughts or how he could have done anything different. Second guessing during a battle- especially for a ship's captain- was about as condemning to his career as it was to the crew. Luckily for Cutter, he had learned to hold his secondary thoughts at bay till after the bullets stopped flying. It had been something that had plagued him for most of his time as a UNSC captain, but it was also a way to analyze his own tactics to see if they were worth using again.

However, there was still work to be done. Cutter pressed a few buttons on the keypad on the arm of his command chair and dialed in Ellen Anders' personal comm frequency. "Professor?"

"Yes, Captain?" came her quick response.

"Location?"

There was a pause then the sound of a throat clearing directly behind him. "Here, Sir."

James spun around in his chair and found Anders sitting on the ground at the base of Serina's bridge pedestal. She had a datapad in hand with wires connecting to the pedestal's innards, and she wore a tired expression- which James was certain he was returning. "Status?"

Ellen sighed and set her datapad down. "Running the last of the diagnostics now. All of the hardware appears to be okay, but I'm really going to have to dig deep into her programming to get a solid reboot. Otherwise she'll only last long enough to scold me on my poor workmanship."

Cutter gave her a grin. "You work at the pace of ten techs," he said with a slight chortle. James leaned forward, placing his elbows on his bony knees. "I assume you heard our ETA?"

She nodded and rubbed at her eyes with the palms of her hands. "I'll definitely have her up and running by then, Captain."

He stared at her for a moment longer, watching her struggle to keep her eyes from blinking like a strobe light. "Why don't you get some sleep first."

The Professor shook her head. "I'd really just like to get this done first." She frowned. "What's the ship-time anyway?"

Cutter glanced up at the bridge chrono placed above the tactical display. "Almost 0300 hours."

And indeed it was late. Most of the ship's crew had left their stations a few hours after they had entered slipspace, leaving only a few crewmen on night-watch just in case anything happened with the FTL drive. Several altercations had broken out when the announcement was made to follow the cruiser rather than return home, and at least two dozen crewmembers were staying the night in the brig. All in all, Cutter figured it could have been much worse and he was glad that things were settling down. And whether he liked it or not, he needed to sleep.

"Tell you what," James said. "You work on Serina as long as you'd like, but I'm not going to ask for an update until 1100 hours." He raised an eyebrow. "And I don't expect much progress," James added with a knowing tone.

Anders smiled. "Alright, Sir." She detached the wires and closed the panel on the pedestal. "Actually, I believe I'll finish up down on the Observation Deck."

"You mean your _lab_?" the Captain offered.

"Yeah," the Professor said with a fuller smile. She got to her feet and nodded. "Sleep well, Captain."

"You too, Professor." James spun back around to face the forward viewport and stared at the pure blackness of slipspace. The gentle hum of the FTL drive beckoned him to close his eyes and fall asleep. He rubbed at his eyes with thumb and forefinger and exhaled loudly.

Eventually he stood up and started for his cabin, hoping slumber wasn't too far away.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Ship Master Bren 'Randgamee had not held his Fleet title for very long. He was a son of privilege, being as his father, Mehn Var 'Randgamee, was an Oracle Master. Even though Bren had proven himself on the space-faring battlefield, most still held his acceleration to Ship Master as a "gift" from the Council. But Bren 'Randgamee didn't really care what others thought. He had his own motivations and he didn't need to prove himself to his clan. Or to his father.

_Father. If he could see me now . . ._

Bren was alone in his quarters, still trying to make sense of how he had completely lost control over his ship. The initial contact on the asteroid with the humans was completely unexpected and he had lost a very reliable insertion team in the process. He had little choice but to engage the experimental cloaking drive and reorganize his troops. Bren allowed himself a smirk. _Those humans had no idea I was watching their every move_. _So when the window of opportunity presented itself, I snagged the Prize from right underneath their poorly evolved noses_.

Bren steadied his hand over the holographic display's control as he switched the security cam feed once more. The wide view of the bridge flickered to life and was just as dull as it had been a moment earlier. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at the soreness in his long neck. He knew he was right to follow the trail that led _Unwavering Fortitude _to the Oracle, but the smallest seed of doubt took root the moment the complications happened in the forward bay. Bren wasn't expecting the mythic Demons to disrupt the transfer of his prisoner and thus allowing the Oracle to roam freely about his ship.

And now his cruiser was crawling with humans, outnumbering his own troops. 'Randgamee was forced to rely on shiphands who were ill-prepared to defend against such an aggressive enemy. _And the so-called Oracle_ . . . Bren felt his flesh pucker as he recalled in vivid detail how the flying machine had wiped out nearly half his warriors. _Venting_ _the atmosphere of the forward compartments . . . where is the honor in that?_

Bren shook his head and got out of his chair. _What would an Oracle know of honor?_ Smiling to himself, he retrieved his ceremonial energy dagger and Plasma Repeater from his footlocker and returned to stand over the hologram. _If the Council could hear my thoughts I'd be labeled a Heretic!_ But deep down, Bren felt the previous held notion that any Oracle they stumbled across was worthy of the highest respect was cancelled out the minute _Unwavering Fortitude_'s impromptu expedition took a turn for the worst.

The image on the holoscreen switched to one of the main corridors, and Bren clamped his mandibles closed in contempt at the sight of the marching human soldiers heading towards the bridge. _Let them go; the Oracle will deal with them in the same way as my bridge crew_.

The only reason 'Randgamee was still alive was by sheer circumstance. He was on his way down to the forward bay to find out what was taking his retrieval team so long, when the sudden whirlwind of venting atmosphere nearly pitched him out an airlock. Bren struggled, but managed to clear the blast door before it slammed shut. After the unresponsive hails to his bridge, he knew a losing battle with an Oracle was happening all over again.

Except this time, it wasn't his father's fault. It was Bren's alone.

For now, all he could do was wait and hope some of his brethren would last till the endpoint.

Their destination being minutes away, Bren double check his armor and weapons . . . and prepared himself for battle- if it came down to that.

* * *

When Nathan Parker entered the gravity lift lobby in the bow's middle level, he wasn't sure if the dead silence was the best welcome they could have received. If the enemy made any sound it was easier to detect them, but one that made no sound at all . . . those tended to be the deadliest.

But the oval-shaped room was void of any Covenant threat, much like the rest of the ship, and the four soldiers examined their new surroundings.

"This doesn't make any sense," Douglas said quietly into the comm even though he was within arms reach. "Where are all the split-lips?"

"You would think they would at least have a few guards this close to the bridge," Toril added.

"Yeah," the Spartan agreed.

Nathan sighed to himself in annoyance. Ever since he and Holmen had linked up with the two Spartans, Toril had taken a keen interest in everything Douglas had to say. Sure, Nathan was more of a silent listener, but Toril's almost-fawning towards the male Spartan was getting under his skin. He knew she would never admit to it, but Nathan was pretty sure Toril was falling for the MJOLNIR-clad soldier.

Holmen had even went so far as to slide up next to Douglas whenever they came to a stop, turning her head to match his visual scanning. And she was there now, sweeping her SMG across darkened corners and burned out glowpanels.

"It could very well be that this ship wasn't really designed for troop deployment," Alice murmured off to Nathan's left.

He turned to face Alice and found her posture rigid. _Had she noticed the return attention Douglas had been giving Toril?_ He mentally shrugged. "Or maybe the shipmaster has everyone on the bridge with him."

"That'd be a dumb tactic," Toril muttered.

"I'm thinking the shipmaster didn't expect such heavy resistance, and he probably doesn't have that many troops on board," Alice quickly added.

Douglas nodded. "With almost a third of this cruiser dedicated to the cloaking device it's no wonder they might be ill prepared for major in-ship fighting." He sighed and straightened up to his full height. "Well, there's no point in waiting any longer."

"Right," Alice acknowledged.

She walked over to a glowing platform that had a single alien glyph etched into its base. Douglas took a position next to her and they both turned back around to face the two ODSTs.

Douglas held up a hand to forestall Toril entering the lift. "We'll go first, clear out the bridge's foyer, and signal you two when the coast is clear."

Nathan wasn't surprised to see Toril's shoulders slump. "Okay, but be careful," she said in a motherly tone.

Alice turned her head barely a centimeter towards the two conversing, and Nathan could tell the female Spartan was becoming suspicious of this odd bond. "We will," she answered for both of them and took a step backward into the grav-lift.

Douglas was right behind her and the two vanished up into the shimmering purple hue of the lift.

Rotating to his left, he found Toril staring up where the two Spartans had left. Part of him wanted to have it out right then and there and get to the bottom of her seemingly school girl infatuation with Douglas. But the soldier inside firmly reminded him of his need to stay focused on the mission at hand. _Ah, what the hell_. "Toril, are you okay?" he asked, choosing to take his line of questioning down a different path.

He was rewarded by Holmen's head reeling back. "What? What kind of question is that?"

"You just seem very . . . distracted. Do you need to talk about something?" he said, immediately questioning his choice of words.

"_Drittsækk_, what are you talking about?" She shook her head at her own sudden outburst, and started pacing back and forth in front of the grav-lift. "If you ask me, _you're_ the one who's distracted, asking me stupid questions. You do understand what's going on?"

"Yes," Nathan said, trying to maintain his last finger hold on calmness. "Which is why we both need to be focused on the mission and not blindly following someone decked out in the latest MJOLNIR armor."

It was indeed, the wrong thing to say as Toril stopped her pacing and brought her head up. Nathan had finally been able to speak his mind and he totally burned the bridge he had previously constructed to Toril Holmen's confidence.

Even hidden behind her helmet's visor, Nathan knew Toril was staring lasers straight into his own eyes to explode out the back of his head. But for once, she was slow to respond. For as long as he knew her, Holmen was quick to retort, even with superiors. But her rigid posture slowly slackened and she turned away without saying a word.

_Crap_. Nathan wanted to slam his palm off his forehead for his sudden loss of control over the conversation. All he wanted was to gentle confront her about the obviousness of her recent attachment to Douglas, but it had blew up in his face like a frag grenade. And now he was watching the woman he truly wanted to know better sink below the plane of connectability.

"Do you know how I came to be on the _Spirit of Fire_?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She still had her back turned to him, but her voice was once again under control. "I was there at Arcadia when the Covenant showed up and started slaughtering civilians. I was with the _Belfast_, and my battalion was sent to engage the ground forces on the surface." She shook her head. "As soon as our transport left the main hangar, _Belfast_ was hit with a crippling barrage of plasma and we watched our ship break apart before our eyes."

Nathan sighed quietly and shook his own head in remorse. Sometimes it was easy to forget the hardships others have been through. A bitter taste formed in his mouth when he realized he was going about this whole thing all wrong. He was about to speak a word of apology when Toril continued.

"When we landed on Arcadia, we immediately engaged the Covenant troops on the capital city outskirts. We tried to press through to Spartan Red Team and the civilians trapped inside the city walls, but it was of no use." She finally turned back around to face him. "I was knocked semi-unconscious from a plasma grenade as the rest of my unit was wiped out. I should have been next, but then something else happened." She straightened up to her full height and raise her chin. "I felt a firm grasp on my collar and I was hauled to my feet.

"A force from the _Spirit of Fire_ had landed inside the city and had helped evac the last civilians. They were falling back to a rally point when Spartan 042 reached out and saved me. _Douglas_ saved me." Toril sighed as if weary from talking. "Maybe you've never really been in a helpless situation on the battlefield, but pardon me for wanting some face-time with a true hero."

Nathan slumped his shoulders in defeat. _Now I really feel like crap_. Here he was, trying to be all high and mighty by pointing out distractions of infatuation, when all along it was him who was lost in emotions._ I'm jealous for nothing_. He lowered his head to rest his chin on his chestplate.

And here Toril was, connecting the few dots that made her demeanor justified, and proving that Nathan had a lot to learn about reading a woman's state of mind. he just figured he'd give up. _Apologize, you idiot_. "Toril, I-"

A static squeal over the comm interrupted his apology. Both of them reached up to adjust the volume of the annoyance, but the sound died out before they could manage.

"What was that?" Parker asked Holmen, kicking his mind back into military-mode.

Toril brought her free hand up to check her comm unit. "Short burst. Could it be a jamming signal?"

Nathan frowned and slowly brought up his comm's volume to find it void of the static. "I don't know." He listened intently to the noise floor to find a low level hum now prevalent on his channel. "Switch to squad frequency." He matched actions with words and wasn't surprised when the hum was still there.

"You think the Covies are up to something?" Toril asked, hefting her SMG in hand.

"Who else?" he replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

But Holmen's head turned toward the grav-lift the Spartans had taken.

Nathan's expression deepened as he flipped through the private channels to find the one Alice had previously set up. "Spartans, do you copy?" he hastily asked, pulling out his SRS from the magnetic lock on his back.

There was no reply.

Nathan didn't have to have Toril's visor depolarized to picture her worried face underneath. Nor did he have to think twice about following in the two Spartans' footsteps. _That apology is going to have to wait_. "Let's move."

The two ODSTs entered the grav-lift together with weapons ready.

* * *

Still posed in a crouch, Alice waited until the grav-lift shut off underneath and a solid piece of material slid into place to offer her a firm foundation to survey the bridge foyer. Oddly enough, there wasn't much of a foyer, as the small anteroom was structurally enveloped by a pair of the six arches that converged with a dome ceiling to form the bridge. Large viewports framed the three forward spaces between the arches, while rows of consoles and holoscreens lined the two rear spaces. The aft-most space in the arches was where Douglas and Alice found themselves, staring at an empty bridge.

"Swing left, I'll go right," Alice said, moving into the short deserted foyer.

Quietly, the two Spartans fanned out to clear the wide, rectangular foyer of any hidden hostiles, but regrouped at the entrance to the bridge when none were found.

"Same as the rest of the ship: quiet and empty," Douglas murmured, bracing himself against the left arch.

Alice absently nodded. "This has to be a trap. What shipmaster in his right mind would leave the bridge unoccupied?"

"Our mechanical friend might have taken care of anyone unlucky enough to be caught up here."

"But where are the bodies?" Alice asked with a frown.

A staccato of tones coming from the locator device slung over Douglas' shoulder cut off any reply. Keeping his SMG ready in his left hand, he checked the holographic readout and abruptly lifted his head up. "We've got company. Target dead ahead." Douglas raised the device and cursed when the negative tone responded to his ammo check. "Must be a 'one use' item."

"Maybe we can reason with the Monitor," Alice suggested, the words sounding hollow in her own head.

"Be my guest." He motioned with his head back toward the lifts. "You want to call in the reinforcements?"

"Sure," Alice said with a faint smile.

But before she could activate her comm, a wash of static boomed in her ears, only to immediately cut off from the auto-compression built into her helmet. A low buzzing replace the normal quiet of UNSC channels, but Alice tried anyway. "Holmen, Parker; you copy?"

She exchanged a look with Douglas who in turn shook his head. "No use."

"Ah, Reclaimers!" a mechanical voice exclaimed pointedly.

Alice swung her MA5B up into firing position as the previously unseen Contrite Variant detached himself from the bridge's forward-most console.

The Monitor came to a stop a half dozen meters away when he finally noticed the weapons being aimed in his direction. "Oh, my. There is no need for further hostilities. All threats in this section have been eliminated."

"It seems there's one more left," Douglas muttered under his breath. "Look," he began with a raised voice, "you've had your fun. But now we need to secure this ship and pull it out of slipspace."

Contrite Variant made an approximation of a head shaking. "I assure you, recreation was not my intent. We are returning to Installation B-23, just as protocol dictates."

"Protocol?" Douglas blurted out. "People could be dying and you're worried about rules and regs?"

Alice leaned over to Doug ever so slightly. "Careful," she cautioned. "I don't think this thing is playing with a full deck. He may not consider things like human life of much value."

"On the contrary, Reclaimer," the Monitor interjected. "Your species above all should be valued with utmost importance." He half turned away. "But you will see."

As the Monitor sputtered away towards the forward viewport Alice could see Douglas stir out of the corner of her visor. "Doug?"

He grumbled. "I don't know. It has something up it's sleeve."

Alice felt a wave of conflicting thoughts wash over her mind's eye. On one hand, the Monitor proved himself to be a nuisance and highly dangerous, as made evident by the lack of Covenant. But on the other hand, Contrite Variant had not been directly hostile towards either of them, aside from the first time Alice actually touched his frame. She sighed. "He wants us for something, that's clear, but so far he hasn't done anything harmful to _us_."

"Yeah," Douglas breathed. "And I'm not sure we could kill him even if we wanted to." He quickly turned his head to the right to lock a glare at Alice. "But don't think I won't try if I need to."

Deep down, Alice had to admit that she was curious of the Monitor's intentions, but the other half of her was screaming not to go along. "Maybe once it shows us this B-23, it will let us go on our way." Even saying the thought out loud didn't build her confidence.

Still keeping her assault rife ready, she followed after the Monitor with Douglas in tow. As she walked, her eyes swept over the crew pit and couldn't find a loose object any where. Then the horrible realization hit her. "He must have vented the bridge."

Douglas snorted. "That's one way of doing it. Less mess." He stopped short and his body went stiff. "Be ready to lock your magnetic soles."

"Copy."

While the bridge was truly Covenant in design, Alice couldn't help but notice subtle similarities to that of some UNSC ships. A floating central command chair was perched above a lowered crew pit, while numerous monitors were arrayed above the ring of consoles to give a panoramic visual. Either the Fleet Master in charge had finally acknowledged some merit in human design, or else this particular ship was unique in and of itself. She figured the latter was correct.

The two Spartans came to a stop three meters behind the Monitor as he stared out into the black void of slipspace. "You will be witness to the summation of my work. After centuries of labor there is fruit to bare." Contrite Variant turned around to face them. "We are here."

In a brilliant flash, the galaxy exploded before Alice as the cruiser reverted back to normal space. And she almost had to lock her soles as she was rocked back on her heels at the palette of color that was a small, three planet system, back-lit by the most vivid nebulae she'd ever seen. One planet in particular was larger than the others, and by the subtle shifting of their view, Alice figured it was their destination. Rich greens and blues swirled to shape continents on the surface, as patches of white designated random cloud cover. It was, Alice admitted, very similar to Earth in most respects, just smaller in size.

An elbow to her left arm was followed by Douglas' whisper. "How could our mapping ships miss this?"

Alice winced. "If this was on _Tradewind_'s route and it was never able to transmit their findings, it makes sense that such a system was never stumbled upon." A brief flicker of light caught her eye and she looked over to the right viewport. A distant ring-like shape was beginning to make its way around the system's yellow star . . .

"Installation B-23 is located in high orbit over T437t in the Northern Hemisphere," Contrite Variant commented casually. "At this vessel's current speed we'll reach our final destination shortly."

"And what happens when we get there?" Douglas asked, duplicating the Monitor's flippant tone but keeping his SMG tucked into his shoulder.

As the planet T437t grew in size, Contrite Variant let out a short chuckle. "Once we are inside the Grid," he started, "I will show you the greatest success any Monitor has ever achieved."

* * *

Nathan flexed his fingers over the handle of his SRS and hefted the weapon once more. The weightless journey up the grav-lift felt completely alien to him, and he didn't know that if he dropped something it wouldn't follow him onto the bridge foyer.

Beside him, Toril Holmen was back in her natural soldier-mode, poised for battle. She had even shifted her pair of grenades around her waist to make them readily available at her left hip. Though she betrayed no nervousness, Nathan could detect her worry redlining into near panic.

Trying to work moisture back into his mouth, Nathan Parker took the initiative. "Okay, once we're topside let's check out the foyer. I'll go left and you go right. Sound good?"

Toril wordlessly nodded.

The linear mist brightened and a flower petal-shaped door opened above. The grav-lift belched them onto the deck softly and the two ODSTs broken port and starboard. The darkened foyer was nearly five times wider than it was long, connecting the two main corridors by ending in a pair of security doors at either end.

Nathan found nothing but a few busted security consoles and dim lighting. When he returned to the lift, Toril was running back from the darkened starboard side.

"Nothing. Let's head into the bridge," she said, already turning.

Parker reached out to slow her down and grabbed her arm. "Hold on a second." He gently pulled her back. "We go in quiet and alert." He motioned with his head towards the left arch.

The ODSTs kept their boots softly trotting on the bridge floor as they made their way along the curved left wall. Through the large viewports they could see the cruiser was indeed out of slipspace and heading towards a nearby planet.

Nathan tried to catalog everything he saw while still focusing his attention all around him. They had made it a dozen meters in when a flash of yellow light bounced off the floor and vaulted ceiling. "Lets go!" he hissed, turning his trot into a flat out sprint.

They made it around the end of a row of consoles to see something that took Nathan's breath away. The Monitor and the two Spartans were together at the forward viewport with yellow rings glowing around their collective frames. The golden light flickered all around them as their forms were bathed in tiny particles.

"Spartans!" Toril called out.

Douglas managed to turn part way around only to disappear with the other two in a delicate fade of shimmering light.

"No!" Toril yelled. She ran to the spot the Spartans just vacated and searched the ground then ceiling. "Where did they go?" she demanded, casting a glare at Nathan.

But he just shook his head. _What the hell was that?_

All around them, the various consoles began to flash and emit a cacophony of sounds. The bridge was bathed in a purple pulse as the cruiser sprang to life. Outside the viewports, the world began to spin as the Covenant cruiser descended into the upper atmosphere.

The floor began to shake from the turbulence and Nathan knew they were in big trouble.

* * *

Gregory Williams braced himself against a bulkhead when the rumbling of the deck threatened to cast him down. Beside him, Steven Miller wasn't so steady, and Williams watched him stumble to the ground.

"Is the cruiser firing?" asked an ODST over the rattling of the deck.

"No, even Covenant ships this size have suspensions built in to shrug off the recoil," the medtech behind the ODST answered. "This feels like we're in atmospheric free fall."

"What?" Miller blurted out, struggling to his feet with the help of Williams.

"Bridge. _Now_," Greg ordered.

He shoved himself off the portside corridor wall and ducked through the security station connected to the bridge foyer. Surprised to find no automatic restraint field kicking in, Williams pulled out his MA5B and sprinted to the bridge entrance.

But right when he got there, the vibrations ceased and the natural tug of gravity was again as it should be. Miller nearly ran into the back of him, and the rest of the forward squad took position on the right side of the dual arch entry. Greg peered out into the now calmly-lit bridge. "Call 'em out," he ordered, doing his best to spot any Covenant to target.

"Clear over here, Sir."

Kneeling down at Williams' side, Miller nodded. "Clear."

"Spread pattern Bravo, go." Greg took point and marched forward, but felt his jaw drop when he saw a pair of individuals looking out the main viewport that were definitely _not_ Covenant bridge personnel. "Holmen? Parker?"

Reflexively, the two ODSTs spun around and brought their weapons up only to lower them at the sight of their commander.

"Sergeant? How did you get up here?" Parker asked, sounding confused.

Williams met his long lost ODSTs at the crew pit. Thankful that his two rouge squadmates were alive, Greg smiled. "I could ask you the same thing." Behind him, Miller's team was sweeping over the bridge and attempting to access the various consoles and stations. "You two okay?"

"We're fine, Sir," Toril Holmen answered quickly, taking a step forward. "But Alice and Douglas are gone. They left with that . . . floating machine."

"Who?"

"Two Spartans," Nathan Parker clarified. "The unknown AI object identifying himself as the Monitor, vanished with them right before our eyes."

"We need to find them," Toril pleaded.

_Spartans. And they were lost. _Greg sighed. _This day keeps getting better and better_. "Alright, but first thing's first: we need to secure this ship and find a safe place to land. Then we'll use the cruiser's comm to hail the missing Spartans and find out exactly where they are."

"Uh, that might not be as easy as you think." Williams turned to see Miller standing over a console. "That jamming signal we heard earlier is blocking any transmission, sending or receiving," Steven said, pointing toward the forward viewport.

"Can you locate the source?" Williams asked, coming around to Miller's side. The console looked completely foreign to him and he was glad Miller had some training with the Covenant symbols and their interpretation.

Miller ran his fingers over the floating keypad, eliciting negative beeps more than positive ones, but after a solid minute a waypoint appeared on the holoscreen.

Williams looked up at the main forward viewport and saw an overlay appear, outlining a space station they were quickly approaching and spilling various bit of windowed text around random portions of its hull. The shear size of the station was enough to rival the largest UNSC shipyard, but the elegance and use of geometry was unmatched. The facility had a tall, triangular midsection with towers that extended both above and below it's plane- some looked as if they had pierced through the station only to extend out the other end.

A red dot pulsed into existence, marking the jamming's source to be on the tip of one of the lower towers. "Great," Miller breathed. "It's inside that colossus. So much for that idea."

"Sir? You might want to look at this," another ODST called from a different station.

Williams quickly cataloged the location, uploading it to his helmet's memory, and crossed the distance to what he believed to be the Sensor Station. "What is it?"

The ODST, which Greg identified as Corporal Winters, motioned to the screen. "That jamming signal isn't just clogging our transmissions. We've entered into some sort of giant electromagnetic field. And the reason this ship isn't going haywire is because of it's shielding or it's countering the jamming with it's own inverse signal."

Williams frowned and then felt his stomach twist in knots. "_The Spirit of Fire_," he breathed. "If they head here and that jamming is still up . . ."

From the other console, Miller swore under his breath. "It's going to drop into atmosphere like a tin can."

"Well then," Williams started, looking up at the installation the cruiser was baring down on. "It seems we have a new assignment."

* * *

When the Oracle left with the two Demons, he had relinquished control over the cruiser, and now, with Bren's priority protocols, _he_ was back in command of _Unwavering Fortitude_.

And was just in time. If Bren hadn't know the codes by hearts, his ship would have tumbled through reentry and crashed somewhere along the arctic mountains. Right when the Oracle vacated the ship, the shields flared up and lost nearly half their integrity within a few seconds. Luckily the Ship Master had properly identified the looping signal the Oracle was previously using as a safeguard against whatever jamming that was hitting the cruiser. He quickly resumed the loop and found the shields returning to normal. _That explains why he initiated the signal right before we exited slipspace. A useful insight, indeed_.

Bren 'Rangdamee watched the newest group of humans file onto his bridge via the security cam feed to his console's projector. A sardonic smile spread across his face as he saw his prey before him. As much as he wanted to enter the code into his console that would seal off and vent the bridge, he didn't.

For whatever reason, the Oracle didn't attack the humans, and this gave 'Rangdamee a buffer he could use, a shield, so to speak. Along with just a handful of other Sangheili warriors that he had only recently contacted in the aft of the ship and ordered to stand down, he had to salvage something from this otherwise failure of a mission.

Trying to keep _Unwavering Fortitude's_ vector adjustment as inconspicuous as possible, Bren programmed the cruiser's path on an intercept course with the massive space station off in the distance. _It has to be the place the Oracle mentioned to the Demons_. The angular design was completely Forerunner, and the huge scale of the installation was akin to everything Bren had been fortunate enough to recall during his mission debriefing with the Council.

Only he wasn't going after some old, unpowered ruins on a backwater planet like he had been instructed. He was after an Oracle.

And to 'Rangdamee's pleasant surprise, he had found something else.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Ellen Anders forced her eyelids open as she tried to return from unconsciousness. She hadn't planned on falling asleep so suddenly, but it seemed an appropriate reward for completing the last diagnostic on Serina's AI infrastructure without any mishaps. Still hunched over her desk, Ellen uncurled her arms cradling her head and slowly sat up in her chair. She could feel the cold slobber on her cheek and hastily rubbed the annoyance away.

A subtle _ding_ from her computer brought her attention to the screen. Speeding along on an opened document was the growing trail of the letter J. But once the program caught up with her sleeping form no long holding down a key, the document had amassed 31 pages. Anders smirked and quickly did the math in her head. _I've been asleep for almost two and a half hours_ . . .

Her hair had fallen loose and a few strands were still pasted against her forehead. Tugging her long black locks free of the fastener, she leaned back and ran her hands through her hair to ease away some of the tension in her neck. As she did so, Ellen blinked away the last remaining bits of tiredness. One of the more helpful skills Anders had learned was the ability to function on very little sleep. Usually just a simple cat nap could keep her going for an extra six hours.

She let out a yawn and stretched her arms high till she heard a few pops from her joints and collapsed her hands into her lap. Ellen reached up to delete the "J" document file when the sound of shuffling feet to her left caused her to spin ninety degrees in her chair. The abrupt adrenaline rush completely clear away any remaining fog that covered her mind.

Standing half a dozen meters away with arms folded across his chest was a tall, fit man, decked out in civilian dress. He was facing forward, offering Anders his profile, and looking out at the colorless void of the Slipstream.

Hoping not to imply her sudden inhalation of air made her out to be startled- which she was- Ellen quickly cleared her throat. "Excuse me but what are you doing here?" She frowned. "And how did you get into my lab?"

"Sorry," the man said with a gravelly voice. He then swallowed and quietly cleared his throat as well.

"And?" she implored, but it seemed that was the extent of his vocabulary. Given the fact that this civilian had somehow managed to break into the Observation Deck, she figured "sorry" was something he was used to saying. Her frown deepened when he didn't say anything else for a solid nineteen seconds. "Excuse me," she tried again with a little more forcefulness in her words. She glanced over at her comm unit on her desk and realized she might have to call security.

"Sorry," he repeated, but ended it with a sigh this time. Some of the stiffness in his stance slackened, if only for a moment. "I have nowhere else to be. At least . . . not for a while."

_What? Is that some sort of pickup line? _Ellen shook her head, trying to fully comprehend his words. His tone wasn't that of a guy trying to get her into bed but layered with a touch of sadness and regret that spoke of some hidden meaning. _Why are men so cryptic sometimes?_

It was during her brief contemplation with the male psyche that she finally recognized the person's voice as he spoke once more. "Slipspace is oddly comforting to me." He opened his mouth to say something else but clamped down before another sound escaped.

Ellen eyed him more closely. "You're a Spartan, aren't you?" _That will explain how he got in here, but not why . . ._

He pursed his lips and worked his jaw for a moment. His non-reply was enough to confirm her suspicions.

"So why are you here?" she asked again, trying to soften her words but feeling like she failed. "What brings you down here?" she tried instead.

"Couldn't sleep." He turned his back to her and walked along the portside viewports as if his feet were being dislodged from mud.

Ellen tried to mentally place him from the three Spartans. "Jerome, is it?" she asked, trying to sound conversational.

He looked over his shoulder and nodded. Jerome had something in his gait that spoke of an indecisiveness, as if a stiff breeze might blow him over before he made up his mind to divulge information.

Ellen was going to ask the slightly younger man what he was doing here for the fourth time, but it finally clicked in her head when she analyzed his posture. It was of someone with something to say. _Talk? Why would anyone want to talk with me?_

_Oh, great. Just because I'm a professor people think I can cover anything labeled as "doctor" stuff_. "Look, maybe you should-" Ellen stopped herself mid-sentence when she saw his downcast gaze fix on some indiscriminate spot on the floor, and his dark brown eyes not only looked troubled but held a story of a past that more than likely eclipsed hers in the way of extraordinary.

"Are you familiar with Dr. Halsey's work?" he asked, not looking up.

Ellen snorted out of pure reaction, but collected herself and nodded. "You mean the Spartan program? Most of that file is sealed tight in an ONI vault somewhere on Reach. Though what all I can-"

"The augmentation process, can be . . . difficult to overcome," he softly interrupted her. "I was on one of the orbital defense platforms above Reach where I was being treated for what they called 'mild effects' from the augmentation."

Ellen frowned. "Why an orbital platform? I would think it would make more sense to keep you locked tight planet-side."

"I don't know," Jerome answered as he began his pacing again. "There were others in the isolation room with me, but I can't say who they were." He visibly swallowed. "We didn't stay there very long.

"From what I learned later, a freighter had docked with the platform, supposedly delivering supplies, but instead of the usual cargo, it was filled with a URF insurgence team. They quickly overran the security teams in place and they somehow knew exactly where to find us."

Ellen's eyes grew slightly wider. "As in 'you Spartans'?"

Jerome nodded. "I heard the Code Blue alarms go off and managed to pry myself out of my bed and get the others up and moving. Though still groggy from the meds we were on, I was able to lead the other three into the hallway where we could find some place to either hide or arm ourselves. A brightly-lit medical wing isn't exactly the most discreet place to be." His hands balled into fists, his knuckles turning white. "Right when we stepped out into the main hallway the medical staff had turned the corner to our left, being pursued by the gun-wielding Rebels, and we were caught in the crossfire."

Ellen felt her stomach turn cold. _He must have been only a teenager. And to witness such a thing . . ._

Jerome began to visibly shake as he squeezed the words out of clenched teeth. "I watched as the two on my left took rounds to the chest, their blood splattering against my once perfectly white medical gown. A bullet lanced off my right shoulder, spinning me around just in time to watch the last Spartan candidate take a mortal wound to the stomach."

He forced his hands open and looked down at his empty palms. "Then the Innies stopped shooting, as if they suddenly realized their actions were spoiling their plunder. I looked up and locked eyes with the nearest rebel. And in the single moment we both knew he was dead."

Ellen almost shrunk back in her chair when Jerome lifted his head and gazed at her. His eyes betrayed no regrets of taking another's life, but that layer of sadness was back with a vengeance.

"I went into a rage. Even before the front three men had switched to their shocksticks, I was on them like a crazed animal. I can't even recalled how I did it, but when I was done snapping bone and puncturing flesh with my bare fists, the seven unresponsive bodies of Insurrectionists were littered at my feet." Jerome closed his eyes, shook his head, and sighed. "I must have fainted from exhaustion or lack of blood, because when I came to I was under harsh white lights in an entirely new facility." He swallowed and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "But I was alone."

Ellen waited for a while before responding. She even waited till Jerome showed some visible sign that he wasn't going catatonic before her eyes. Her gazed met his and she felt the coldness in her stomach reach up into her throat. "Sounds like you did everything you could."

He winced and shook his head minutely. "That's not the point," he said, his voice under rigid control. "In the end, I was the only one alive. _I_ survived while the others died." He turned and faced forward again, looking out the viewports. "And it's happening again," he muttered.

Ellen felt her brow furrow but soon caught herself and looked down at her feet. She didn't have to ask Jerome what he meant by his last statement, but the guilt layered in his voice was thick enough to cut with an energy sword. "And you feel responsible for their deaths?" she asked hesitantly. Ellen classified herself as a pretty brilliant woman, but as far as personality traits and human psych-stuff . . . she felt at a loss.

"Of course I don't. I wasn't the one that pulled the trigger."

"But you feel guilty," Ellen tried instead, mentally connecting his past story with current events. "For both times."

Jerome gave her a sideways glance but remained silent.

Ellen pursed her lips._ This Spartan has been carrying something that happened to him years ago, and now that he's separated from the rest of Red Team, he feels the same flood of emotion_s. She had figured out, by listening to Cutter's reports while on the bridge repairing Serina, that the other two Spartans were on the Covenant cruiser when it jumped. "I heard that a lot of ODSTs made it on board the cruiser before it left," she said. "Maybe Alice and Douglas linked up with some."

Jerome's shoulders rose with a quick exhalation of breath. "Maybe."

Thinking back to her last moments on _Tradewind_, Ellen frowned. "Do you think you could have gone with them if you hadn't had to oversee the FTL drive's extraction?" she asked, hoping he wasn't looking for her to admit a role in all this.

"No," he sighed. "It's just that . . . I don't know." Jerome rocked his neck back and forth a few times. "Red Team is just that, a team. The three of us have fought alongside each other ever since we were given our first set of armor. It's hard to explain, but we have a natural ability to function as one when engaged on the battlefield."

Ellen nodded in agreement. "Trust me, I know what you guys are capable of."

"And with those two going off to God-knows-where, I'm left here . . ." he trailed off and lowered his chin to his chest.

"Survivor's guilt," Ellen breathed, when the oddly-shaped puzzle pieces finally snapped into place. "That's it, isn't it?"

Jerome lifted his head up and turned to face her. "We're all survivors, Professor," he said with a raised eyebrow and a bit of normalcy returning to his voice. "Some just have a heavier burden to carry."

Ellen tilted her head in confusion. "And you think bearing this guilt is a way to justify the situation?"

His eyes narrowed. "What would you know of guilt?" he rumbled.

In the back of her mind, Ellen felt something snap. "Guilt?" she blurted out, as she stood up abruptly, pitching her chair backward to bang off a rack of diagnostic equipment. "Try telling Cutter that using the _Spirit of_ _Fire_'s FTL drive as a warhead into the sun of a collapsing planet is a great idea. All the while leaving the rest of the crew with little hope of a safe return home," she bit out. "If there's _anyone _aboard this ship that should carry the responsibility of guilt, it's me."

Ellen stopped her rant when she found herself a mere meter away from the Spartan with her hands on her hips. The fire in her words matched her expression, and for the first time since his arrival, Jerome's face slackened to passive. Looking up into those dark eyes, Ellen finally felt a complete release inside from the same feeling that clutched Jerome's mind. "And you know what? There's nothing I can do about it now. And if I had to do it all over again, I would, because it was the only way to save our necks."

She poked a finger into his chest. "So maybe you should start thinking along those lines. Let the past be just that: _the past_. You think feeling guilty makes you a better soldier? Own up to the things you _can_ control and let the rest get sucked out an airlock."

Fighting back the tightness in her throat, Ellen took a step backward. She knew those words were not just meant for Jerome but for herself. She tried to deny feeling any remorse for her outburst, but the universe seemed to collapse and expand into the Observation Deck in the span of a single breath.

For a while, the two were silent, both staring at each other in an unannounced contest. But eventually Jerome blinked several times and sighed. "You're right," he said, with the slightest tug of a smile. His shoulders slackened like a retired marionette. Ellen watched as the tension lines in his face smoothed to reveal surprisingly handsome features.

Ellen looked at him quizzically. "I am?" She then straightened up. "I am," Ellen confirmed. _I guess so_. Her previously held notion that this guy needed to see a psychiatrist was washed away when she concluded that what Jerome needed was not only someone to listen, but some firm words as well.

"Yeah, but you got your second chance," Jerome said with a wry smile, motioning with his right hand at the void of slipspace outside the viewports.

Ellen smiled. "Maybe you will too."

"Yeah. Maybe." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this."

"It's okay," Ellen responded, knowing that it truly was. Awkwardly, she reached out and lightly patted him on his left forearm. She hastily withdrew her hand and smiled up at the Spartan. Psych training or not, she still had a lot to learn about relational interaction.

Jerome let his own tug of a smile spread across his face. "I'll let you get back to sleep." He turned to go.

"Actually, I'm wide awake now," she said with a little more spunk. Ellen poked a thumb over her shoulder to point at her computer. "I've finished Serina's final diagnostic. I'm ready to boot her up, if you'd like to stay and watch."

Jerome grimaced. "That's okay. I should probably get some sack time before Cutter calls in an early morning war room meeting." He extended his right hand and gave Ellen's left shoulder a squeeze. He just as awkwardly pulled his hand away and tucked it inside a pant pocket. "Good luck with that." He nodded with a smile. "Ma'am." Jerome started for the door on the far side of the room.

Ellen watched him go with a new found respect for the man- and for Spartans in general. _For all they are called upon to do, they more than likely have little downtime_. But even as his steps proved less mechanical and more natural, Ellen felt she might have said too much. She didn't really plan on exposing her hidden emotions, and part of her felt regret at being so vulnerable before anyone. But the other part of her was overjoyed at the release, finally coming to terms with her own guilt. It was something she might have to run further analysis on.

"Oh, and Professor?" Jerome called from the doorway.

"Ellen," she said. "You can call me Ellen."

Jerome smiled and glanced down at the ground for a second before nodding a final time. "Thank you, Ellen."

As she nodded in return, Jerome disappeared out the doorway. "Thank _you_, Jerome," she said softly. Smiling to herself, she pulled her chair over to her desk and brought up Serina's start-up program.

* * *

Jerome entered the lift that would take him to the upper levels of the ship only to find his finger pausing over the control panel. A voice inside his head was screaming at him to head back to the Professor's lab and not be alone for the next few hours. But a different voice, still and small, was telling him he needed to soak in everything the two had talked about.

He couldn't really believe he had just bared a portion of his soul to Anders, but it felt . . . right. What he didn't expect was his nearly uncontrollable emotions, something a Spartan should be well above. Regardless, he knew he had worked through the callous layers of guilt only to come out stronger. And for that, he owed the Professor more than just a thank you.

Jerome knew a part of him had subconsciously led him to her lab, and even now that same draw wanted him to stay. But the last thing he wanted was to appease some hormonal instinct of loneliness in the current state of his subsiding emotions. The two conflicting worlds of discombobulated thought and a sex drive would not make any such pleasurable experience worth it.

Jerome shook his head and dialed in the correct deck level. _What am I thinking?_ He sighed when he knew exactly what the lustful thoughts wanted. He couldn't deny that he found Ellen Anders very attractive, and her awkward quirkiness added a certain charm that made him smile. Jerome quickly wiped the expression from his face. _Intimate relationships should be the furthest thing from my mind_.

He let out a frustrating sigh and banged a fist off the cold lift door. What he needed now was sleep and some time to shift and organize his thoughts into something that didn't resemble a mental traffic jam.

When the door chimed open he started for his quarters, hoping his new-found confidence with the Professor wouldn't distract him . . . too much.

* * *

Alice felt her entire body go numb for a split second before the golden rings surrounding her vanished with a flash of brilliant light. She was weightless for another second before her feet made solid contact with the ground, and she reached her left hand forward to retain her balance. Her helmet's diagnostics were in the process of a quick reboot when her visor began adjusting to the dim lighting.

But it was not needed.

From high above, large, ice-blue panels glowed into existence, giving Alice a better view of the place she had arrived. Feeling more like she was on the inside of a multi-walled pyramid, the cavernous room was hard to put into scale. She was on a raised oval platform, surrounded by computer consoles of unfamiliar design which came to life by her mere presence. Looking forward over the holographic displays Alice found a giant circular pit that vanished into the ceiling as well. She could easily imagine the vertical shaft running hundreds of meters in both directions.

"Where are we?" Douglas asked, stepping up beside her.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Contrite Variant called out as he descended from up above. The Monitor made a casual loop around the ring of consoles to come to a stop in front of the two Spartans. "After careful requisition of the Constructors, I have managed to erect a near duplicate of the Library found on Installation 03!" he exclaimed triumphantly.

Alice exchanged a glance with Douglas who merely shrugged. "Okay," she said slowly. "Is that a good thing?"

"Why yes, of course. My Makers allowed a generous amount of flexibility in the overseeing of B-23, and I have put it to full capacity."

Alice frowned. "What's so important about the Library?"

Contrite Variant tilted slightly on his axis. "It contains the catalog of every living being in the galaxy the Librarian was able to record. Along with pertinent information on the research regarding the parasite known as the Flood."

"A giant database," Douglas muttered. "You think this 'Flood' is the same thing we encountered on that shield world?" he asked Alice quietly.

With eyebrows raised, Alice nodded. Douglas had beat her to the simple conclusion of the 'parasite' reference and had more that likely placed their apparent common enemy. "Monitor, do you have a visual example of the Flood available?"

Without hesitation, a static image popped up on all of the holographic displays and revealed a bulbous, multi-tentacled form. Contrite Variant seemed to shudder as he moved in closer. "This is primarily known as an Infection Form. It is capable of tracking down a host, either recently deceased or alive and-"

"Yeah, we get it," Douglas interrupted with a raised hand. "We've seen their work."

The Monitor perked up. "You have?" he said excitedly. "Then you must know how important my research is and why we must act with haste."

"No, we don't," Alice said through clenched teeth. _Why are AIs so high strung all the time?_

"From the beginning of my Makers' campaign against the Flood, they had hoped to find a way to neutralize their adversary. With the construction of the Rings, they built a series of super-weapons that, when activated, would destroy all sentient life in the galaxy in order to starve the Flood."

The passiveness of the Monitor's comment didn't send Alice rocking back on her heals but his words did. "As in kill every living thing?" she breathed, wanting to make sure she understood him properly.

Contrite Variant made an approximation of a nod. "Every life-form that could become a Flood host, yes." Then his eye appeared to brighten. "But after centuries of labor this facility has made progress."

"And that is?" Douglas asked with strained patient.

Alice could understand his frustration. _If Contrite Variant's Makers had the ability to eradicate all life in the galaxy, then ONI Command needs to know about these Rings ASAP_. Another quick look at Douglas' rigid posture told her he too was troubled by this new intel. Alice stared back up at the Monitor who looked as if he couldn't decide which Spartan to look at.

"While the Ring Installations did stop the Flood, I have discovered a more excellent way to finish off the parasite once and for all." Contrite Variant raised himself a meter in the air. "I have found a way that successfully configures Installation 03's firing array to directly eliminate the Flood _itself_."

The moment of silence following the Monitor's statement lingered for a few seconds.

Alice's frown deepened. "So the only way to removed the Flood was to starve it?"

The floating machine dipped a half meter. "Until now."

To punctuate the Monitor's words, a burst of light pulsed from deep within both ends of the vertical shaft to gather at the opened area before the two Spartans. Contrite Variant was silhouetted briefly until the light collapsed into a single floating image of an angular letter T. Along its slender shaft it glowed a shimmering green.

"This is the newly created Index," Contrite Variant said pridefully. "A variation of the original found on Installation 03." The Monitor lowered itself to eye-level. "But it's activation will require a Reclaimer to initiate such a high-level protocol. If you are willing, I can begin the preparations."

Alice's mind began to race as the weight of the situation pressed down on her shoulders. From her previous engagements on the shield world, Alice knew of the overwhelming capabilities of the Flood and how it didn't distinguish between human and Covenant as enemies. _And if the Flood had caused the builders of this facility to make a last ditch weapon . . ._

Alice shook her head. She wasn't about to get pressured into committing genocide- regardless of the victim- but if nothing else, Captain Cutter had to be informed of all this. _If the_ Spirit of Fire _ever makes it here_.

Beside her, Douglas stepped forward. "Look, you have to understand that we need to discuss this with our superiors and form a consensus," he said diplomatically. "A decision like this requires in-depth analysis and study of the end results." Douglas looked over at Alice nodding invitingly.

Then it clicked in Alice's mind. _Just buy some time_. "Yes, that's right. If you could provide us with-"

Her request was cut off by the sudden shift of the overhead light panels from pale blue to yellow then back to normal again. On the multiple displays, the image of the Flood infection form was replace with that of the Covenant cruiser performing a docking maneuver on what looked like one of the many spires extending from the central base of B-23.

Alice's eyes grew wide. It wasn't that the ship's arrival was unexpected, but coupled with the fact that it appeared to draw attention from whatever security measures this station had was enough to turn her stomach to ice.

"Looks like our ODST friends are here," Douglas muttered.

"You have allies aboard a hostile vessel?" Contrite Variant demanded softly.

Alice took another step forward. "Yes, and they mean no harm to you. Or to your work here," she added, hoping to quell the situation without the Monitor jumping to action.

Contrite Variant seemed to consider her words then bobbed up and down in acknowledgement. "If they show no hostility then they will be left alone." His eye dimmed briefly. "But if they act unbecomingly the Sentinels will carry out security measures as they are programmed."

"Sentinels?" both Spartans asked simultaneously.

"Yes, they will follow protocol." The Monitor lifted up and started moving backward.

Alice held up a hand. "Wait, where are you going?"

Contrite Variant turned to face her. "As per protocol, I will initialize the new Index for transport, though it may take some time to do so."

"Fine." Douglas shifted his weight. "And what about examining the data and contacting our commander?"

The Monitor gave a little chuckle. "I'm afraid communications are temporarily disabled in compliance with security measures. But if you wish to review the data . . ." Once again the holo-displays flickered and lines of undecipherable text filled in all around them. Countless pages scrolled every which way and various images cycled quickly, pausing a split second before being replaced by another.

"Though this installation is rightfully yours to inherit, please remain here while I attend to the Index." And with that, the Monitor sputtered way, down into the vast opening in the floor.

After a moment, Douglas spoke, still staring at the vertical shaft. "I don't know if I find the light-bulb's lack of concern over the Covenant cruiser disturbing or comforting."

Alice nodded. "I know." They turned to face each other. "You think these 'Sentinels' are going to be trouble?"

"I would count on it," Douglas said with a shrug. "But until we find a way out from under the Monitor's eye, the ODSTs are on their own."

* * *

Nathan Parker waited with his reunited squad at the airlock's inner door. He knew they were taking a big enough risk to trust the docking collar being positioned by an unknown operator, and the quiet nervousness in the small anteroom was palpable. Parker didn't know if the cruiser was on an automated approach or if someone- or something- was steering the ship to the docking port. Regardless, it was the only way to board the massive space station and knock out the jamming that could bring down _The Spirit of Fire_.

In other words, it was a Priority-1 assignment and whatever fears one had were irrelevant.

One of unit's techs confirmed that breathable air was inside the facility but recommended the standard helmet filters to remain on full. It was also decided that a small team would stay with the wounded on the cruiser's bridge, and given a cataclysmic event, they would attempt to break off and head for deep space- if they could. It was a fail-safe that Nathan hoped they didn't have to use.

Parker watched as his commander squeezed through the crowded ranks and started for the airlock. Frowning, Nathan sighed. A motivational speech was the last thing he wanted to hear after giving himself a good dose of a lecture. Still upset about his screwed-up exchange with Toril, Nathan was beating himself up mentally for being so quick to judge. Deep down, he knew better- he was raised better. In their debriefing with Williams and Miller, Nathan hadn't had the chance to officially apologize to Toril, and remorse was slowly eating at the back of his skull. _Better shape up_, he thought. _Feelings get put on hold in battle_.

"Weapons check," Sergeant Williams called from the front of the group. He allowed his soldiers a moment to gather themselves then turned around. "While we do have a clear objective, achieving it may not be easy. All we know from Corporal Winters' passive scans is that the waypoint on your heads-up-display is our destination. Whatever equipment we'll need to disable is unknown. Whatever security we'll need to bypass is unknown. So trust your equipment, your fellow soldier, and your gut." With a nod from Williams, Miller, standing next to the release panel, hit the control pad and the airlock began to open.

Taking a deep breath, Nathan cleared his mind and kept his eyes on the slowly parting doors. There were a lot of things that could go wrong once inside the facility, but there was also the hope that the two missing Spartans were already on board. And if the ODSTs could complete their objective, they could end the comm jamming and link up with Alice and Douglas.

Swallowing past the bitter taste in his mouth, Nathan knew it was a big "if."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Examining yet another fallen Sangheili, Bren 'Rangdamee let out a frustrated breath. He slowly stood to his full height, and with a clenched fist over his armor chest plate Bren lowered his head. "Your sacrifice will not be in vain," he rumbled ominously.

The Ship Master looked up at the motley crew gathered before him, wondering if they would interject with the proper dirge of a warrior who had lost his life in battle, but they had enough sense not to overlap a superior, regardless of age-old tradition.

After locking the cruiser's controls to be instantly overridden at his command, Bren had contacted the remnants of his warriors on board _Unwavering Fortitude _and had rallied them to the forward docking bay. He was hoping for a better turnout, but the collective toll the Oracle and the humans had given left only a dozen Sangheili and two pairs of Unggoy. With a certain perspective, Bren figured it was divine intervention to sift his warriors like _turnim_ at harvest to leave only the best for the journey ahead.

Regardless, it would be a challenge.

Bren waited until all eyes were once again on him. "While our numbers may be few, we still have a task at hand." He lifted his left arm and pressed a string of buttons on his data-bracer. "Tracking the Oracle with his energy signature may seem disrespectful, but we are out of viable options." Bren tapped the side of his lower-profile helmet. "The homing signal will lead us to our prize."

"And what of the Humans? Surely their Demons will attempt the same theft as before," a Sangheili warrior pointed out. His voice was firm and clear, not showing any sign of fear.

"Then we will improvise a distraction, if need be." Bren motioned with his left hand towards the Phantom. "Come, now. Let us find that which we seek."

The seventeen Covenant soldiers filed into the transport and Bren took the co-pilot's seat, already activating the cloaking systems. The Oracle had moved to the far end of the station, relative up, and taking the smaller ship to a closer docking zone or even a hangar would be much faster than attempting to navigate the Forerunner corridors on hoof. And Bren knew his small team couldn't stay unnoticed forever.

He just hoped that the end result was worth all the trouble.

After initiating the inverse jamming signal and bringing the shields up to full- just to be safe, the Phantom slipped out of the bay, and the pilot, as per Bren's instructions, took them in a lazy arc up and over _Unwavering Fortitude_. Seeing the pitiful exterior condition of his ship, Bren worked his mandibles in silent anger. The act of a Human treading on his bridge was enough to make his flesh pucker, but the crumpled frames and twisted, burned out turrets made Bren downright tremble in rage. _They will pay for this_.

Closing his eyes for a few seconds, the Ship Master pushed away thoughts of revenge and focused his energy on the current task. He leaned forward and flipped on the console's sensors to capture everything the station was giving off. Streams of data quickly filled the holoscreen and Bren hoped it would be useful for later examination and reflection.

It wasn't till they had fully cleared the cruiser that the scale of the Forerunner station was put into perspective. It was massive. Almost five times the size of an Assault Carrier, it was a wonder how it was able to stay in orbit without its own weight pulling it down into atmosphere. Bren offered a smile and dipped his head in marvel at the Forerunner's superior design and engineering.

The Phantom skimmed along one of the lower spires, but the speed in which they were traveling left the finer details of the station's outer surface undefinable. Brief flashes of light and a mix of gray, white, and blue blurred into one continuous streak. When the Phantom reached the central, triangular base, the pilot did well to keep the keel of the ship close to the hull of the station, throwing off any hidden point-defense weaponry that might be in place.

Out of the corner of his left eye, Bren noticed the calm collectiveness of his pilot and catalogued the observance away for another time where offering praise would be appropriate.

As they traveled farther upward, away from the planet and towards their destination, the spires on the upper portion of the station appeared more angular and boxy. At the base of several spires was a ring of dark material resembling a _ghanli_ hive comb. In fact, the column the Phantom was heading towards had the same hexagonal pattern where it connected to the central mass. Bren wondered if this little observation would be useful later. _Maybe I am trying to remember too many things_. . . Shrugging to himself he brought an extended finger up to point at the distant waypoint now overlaying a short protrusion at the end of their spire. "There."

The pilot nodded and slowed the ship's speed, keeping the deceleration so consistently smooth for Bren not to detect any sudden jerk against his restraints. _A fine pilot in deed. Perhaps he has the makings of a Ship Master_. The Phantom's aft rose to level off their ascent and the landing area quickly came into view. Much larger than Bren had previously figured, the docking zone was big enough to accompany three Phantoms comfortably.

Pushing through the haze of an atmospheric containment field, the Phantom dipped into the spacious bay. Completely utilitarian in design, the opened area had nothing to clutter the walls or even crowd the floor with equipment racks. For all intents and purposes, the bay was completely empty. Wisely, the pilot turned the ship 180 degrees to allow a quick exit out the containment field, should they need it.

Without waiting for the Phantom to come to a complete stop, Bren unfastened his restraints and stood, placing a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "Stay here and keep watch over this bay. I'll contact you when we are heading back with the Oracle."

Nodding respectfully, the pilot eased the ship into a standard hovering height and flipped on the interior lights. Bren moved into the central passenger compartment where the Spec Ops troops waited for him. Even the Unggoy stood a little taller at the unprecedented event of a Ship Master leading ground troops into battle. Every other Sangheili warrior was sporting the cumbersome gravity-retrieval unit they would use to capture the Oracle while the other half the trusty, Type-33 Needler. All Sangheili carried the trusted plasma energy sword and a standard Type-25 DER.

Pausing only briefly in the midst of his troops, Bren continued aft-ward and activated the gravity lift. Without hesitation, he jumped down through the opening. His hooves landed softly and Bren quickly moved towards the only exit, a large rectangular door that a Wraith could have fit through with ease. Keeping his Plasma Repeater held ready, he kept his vision locked forward, knowing his flanking warriors would be watching the left and right sides for any trouble. The semi-reflective surfaces of the landing zone floor and walls seemed very familiar to Bren and he wondered if all Forerunner decor was the same everywhere in the galaxy.

When the team made it to the dark gray door, Bren walked over to the release panel on the wall and pulled out a palm-sized, boxy device given to him by his father. Bren was told in confidence that the passive sensor packet would allow the user to mimic a biological code that could access low-level Forerunner technology. His father had sternly warned him to never tell anyone about it, in fear of a backlash from the High Council. Never truly hearing the complete story of how his father constructed or obtained the device, at the very least he was told how and why to use it. But this would be the first time Bren had the opportunity to put it to the test.

Clamping the small device to his data-bracer, he waved his left forearm over the release panel and was rewarded with a resounding thump. As the rectangular door lowered into the floor a soft cloud of dust descended from the ceiling. There was a brief tug of vacuum as the two open areas equalized in pressure. Two Sangheili marched through, alert and ready for any sign of danger, as the others followed in a defensive pattern. Bren quickly formed up at the head of the group and led them to a halt as soon as the rear guard cleared the doorway.

The large foyer they found themselves in connected two wide hallways to the left and right. Both turned in 90 degree angles several dozen paces down and Forerunner glyphs were marked above each entrance. Even with his limited knowledge of such symbols Bren identified both of them as research lab designations. Cross referencing his choice with the location of the Oracle's waypoint on his HUD, he waved the strike team off to the left hallway. "Onward."

His father had once told him that the fewer words one uses the more powerful those words become. It was a creed Bren learned to live by and one that could bring confidence to those around him. He would never classify himself as a Councilman-in-training, but he had always gravitated towards positions of power. He knew he wasn't the best Ship Master in the Fleet- far from it- but his leadership skills were what his commanders saw. Maybe one day he would rightfully take his father's place as an Oracle Master.

He snickered. _If only the Council knew the full report of this mission . . ._ He brought his head up soberly. _That is . . . if I live to complete it_.

As they moved deeper into the facility, Bren began to notice several octagonal vent-like panels situated where the angled walls met the ceiling. They looked big enough to accompany a crawling full-grown Sangheili, but the solid, pink-red lights at the bottom of the panels told Bren they were probably not in use. Whatever purpose they had he didn't know. Shrugging to himself, he watched the waypoint distance slowly tick down with each step.

* * *

It wasn't until the group of ODSTs fully disembarked from the cruiser that they realized the final distance calculation of their intended target. Nathan watched as Sergeant Williams bounced a fist off the newly opened doorway. "Blast it," he grounded out between clenched teeth. Nevertheless, he waved the forward squad on into the room attached to the airlock foyer.

Nathan frowned and quickly scanned his own squad for Corporal Winters, the man responsible for pointing out the source of the jamming. Winters betrayed no slackened stance or look of remorse for the apparent miscalculation, but Nathan, like everyone else, knew how difficult it was to translate the Covenant's measuring system on the fly.

Although, seeing as the cruiser had docked on the spire next to the one they needed to be on, there was little anyone could do to fix the situation other than to march towards the central triangular base of the station and press on down the appropriate spire.

Waiting for his turn in line to file through the doorway, Nathan caught a beckoning wave from his commander to another Sergeant. Squeezing past Nathan, he marched up to Williams. "Want to split up again? Cover more ground?" came the hushed words from Sergeant Miller.

A sour look flashed over Williams' face. "Tempting," he said, looking over the arched ceiling. "But without a nav-map you'd get lost real quick. The layout of this place is more confusing than a monochrome FPS."

Miller snorted. "So keep pressing on?"

Williams nodded. "Recon Pattern Bravo," he called out loud enough for the entire troop contingent to hear.

Searching his memory for his place in the pattern, Nathan quickly took position at the left flank in the larger attached room. The diamond-shaped format had been instilled in them since ODST Primary Training Camp and Nathan wasn't about to embarrass himself further.

Once in formation, Nathan kept his eyes searching for any sign of trouble lurking behind the darkened corners and angular pillars that rose to the ceiling to frame the room. But he felt his mind drift toward Toril Holmen and how he had wronged her.

His only romantic connection with a woman had been with a fellow marine recruit by the name of Mandy. She was all innocent and cute, but washed out of Basic before the second phase was over. Nathan was only 18 years old, and the slightest attention he received from Mandy was most inviting to a lonely military hopeful. But it ended almost as soon as it began when they found out how much of their upbringing had shaped their own line of thinking. Being on opposite ends of the spectrum on almost everything from religion to politics, Nathan quickly realized a relationship would never work.

_Is it very much the same with Toril?_ he thought to himself, stepping over the threshold of another doorway and into an equally large room. He really didn't have any time at all to get to know her and find out what made her tick, but he could feel the attraction. It was amazing to Nathan how much a few years did to a man to help him distinguish pure lust from love. Though a gray area was quickly becoming a massive cavern into which he felt himself teetering on the edge.

Regardless of any mutual feelings, Nathan was hoping for another opportunity to talk with Toril privately. Even if all he could accomplish was an apology. _A restoration of friendship might be wishful thinking_ . . .

Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, he spotted Toril on the right flank. Her weapon held tight in her grip, she kept her focus purely on the task at hand. Swinging his head back around and sighing to himself, Nathan wondered if he'd ever be able to get her to open up again.

* * *

Captain Cutter marched onto the bridge of the _Spirit of Fire_, feeling more rested than he thought possible. The rest of the crew greeted him with warm smiles and nods, the expressions doing little to hide their anticipation for the re-activation of Serina. like most modern-day technology, people didn't fully comprehend their reliance on such things till they were inoperable or gone. And since a UNSC AI did so much aboard such a large ship, Professor Anders' reputation was given a well deserved boost for her progress with Serina.

Ellen was waiting for him at the AI's 'base of operations', and she held a datapad attached to the pedestal via a thick ribbon cable. She nodded. "Captain," Anders greeted him.

James came up to her and gave her a firm handshake. "When I heard you had completed your work on Serina I was surprised at how quickly you finished." He motioned at the pedestal. "Please, show me what you have."

Pressing a few keys on her datapad, Anders brought up a series of matrices on her screen. "After sifting through thousands of subroutines, I managed to defragment the corrupt lines of code and restructure them with the files we had on cold back-up. Since Serina is hardwired into the _Spirit of Fire_, I was able to identify most of her problematic servers."

"Most?" Cutter asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The rest were fried."

"Ah."

Letting a smile creep across her face, Professor Anders keyed the datapad a final time. With the smallest spark of light, the pedestal began to glow at its base. The blue hue grew in intensity and quickly rose up to the standard-sized height of the ship's AI. Dissolving in a halo that lowered back down to the pedestal's base, the multicolored hologram took shape in the slender form of a woman. The three dimensional image solidified and the familiar face James Cutter had known since taking command of the _Spirit of Fire_ was beaming back at his.

Serina looked a little older around the eyes, but kept her perpetual expression of slightly raised eyebrows. Her long black hair was now pulled back into a thick braid and her outfit had changed to an older style of dress, resembling that of early colonists. Abandoning the black on white ensemble, Serina now wore loose-fitting, dark green pants and an old military-cut, gray jacket zipped to the throat. It was as if she had become one of the _Spirit of_ _Fire_'s original crew members, back when it first left the shipyard, and had rightfully usurped the title of "acting Captain" aboard the ship.

The more conservative appearance matched her seemingly indecisiveness on the proper way to stand before the Captain. Shifting her feet and folding her arms across her chest, Serina nodded to Cutter. "Good morning, Captain. Did I miss anything?" Serina asked with a smile.

All around the bridge, crewmembers broke into a standing ovation at the much needed return of the ship's AI. Cutter joined in on the applause, but quickly brought the commotion back down when he waved his hand for calm. "Good to have you back, Serina."

"Thank you, Captain." Serina lifted her head thoughtfully. "If you will bear with me for a moment, I'll initiate a self-status update on the _Spirit of Fire_'s systems." Without waiting for a reply, she lowered her gaze and brought her right hand up to her temple.

Cutter caught Anders stirring a bit. "Problem, Professor?"

Ellen Anders frowned. "I don't think so. While I did have to use some of the old memory buffers, I didn't think Serina would change her appearance so drastically."

James felt his brow furrow and pulled the Professor off to the side. "Is there a chance other portions of her programming have changed?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Technically they have, but her decision to display herself like the first generation AI the _Spirit of Fire_ originally had is a little worrisome." Anders blinked her brown eyes. "All her higher functions are nominal, but there must be some residue of the past from the buffers she's still able to access."

Cutter chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Well, she seems fine for now. Keep a diagnostic streaming to the chief engineer's console and hopefully Serina will phase out of it."

"Aye, Captain."

The two turned back to the pedestal and found Serina looking back at them. "My, you have been busy, haven't you?" Serina said, cracking a smile. "Still, you managed to keep the ship intact and adapt a new FTL drive as well. Impressive."

James exchanged a sideways glance with Ellen. Serina sounded different to him and the Professor had picked up the subtle casual nuance in the AI's voice as well. Her inflections sounded more natural and less mechanical. Cutter took this as superior tinkering on Anders' part and gave her an abbreviated nod.

"Are you experiencing any lag issues or decryption errors?" Ellen asked.

"None, surprisingly." Serina's gaze shifted to Anders. "You brought me back online, didn't you?"

Wordlessly, Ellen nodded.

"Thank you, Professor. It seems I am in your debt," Serina said with a warm smile.

James noticed Anders' head pulled back in astonishment. Whatever animosity the AI had previously held towards the Professor was apparently gone. Seeing this as another good sign, James nodded. "We are on course to arrive at a so-called 'Installation B-23' in about four days. We have troops there that are on their own till we get there."

"As well as a Covenant Cruiser," Serina replied contemplatively. "Should be interesting." She unfolded her arms. "I'm game."

"You're _game?" James asked with a confused look._

"Yes," Serina said curtly. "Now if you'd like, I can take a look at the coordinates and see if I can plot a faster course to B-23."

At one of the bridge's consoles, Cutter noticed a head raise up. It was the acting-navigator, wearing a concerned expression. He was opening his mouth to speak, but thought otherwise and lowered back down into his seat. "Please consult with Engineer Prescott. He's the one that installed _Tradewind_'s FTL drive to replace ours so he would know the limits that that thing can push."

"Of course, Sir. I'll let you know the moment we figure out if a faster route can be accomplished," Serina said. She waved a hand towards the crew pit. "And if you'd like to dismiss the backup personnel, you can. The ship is in good hands."

James exchanged one more glance with Anders and found a somewhat reluctant nod. "She should be fine, Captain," the Professor concluded quietly. "I'll keep an eye on her."

"Very well." He raised his head and voice. "Dismissed."

As the bridge crew filed out, James felt a wave of mixed emotions bleeding off of them. Some looked relieved while others were muttering under their breath at having been replaced by an AI. James felt for the latter. During Serina's departure the crew had banded together and functioned as the well-trained unit they were. Now they were given a proverbial hand gesture and a kick in the backside to usher them out of an AI-controlled environment.

When Ellen Anders gathered her things and left in the officers' wake, James wondered if he should have kept his crew on the bridge. Shrugging uncomfortably, he took a seat in his command chair. The sudden drop in personnel activity left the normal electrical hum of the ship to be the only sound to pierce his ears.

Suppressing a shudder, James realized the bridge felt much colder than it had a minute ago.

* * *

Keeping his steps even and sure, Bren 'Rangdamee led his team through the fifth arched hallway they had traversed since beginning their search for the Oracle. Just like the previous four, the semi-reflective surface of the dark walls blended into the curved ceiling that contrasted the stark, white floor. The slight curve of the hallway gave Bren pause to wonder if they would not eventually end up going in circles.

But the plain gray doors appeared around a short jog as expected. However a different Forerunner glyph was etched above the advanced release panel to the side of the triangular doors: _Containment Wing_. Bren checked the distance-to-target readout and felt his hearts race. If his equipment was calculating it right, the Oracle was in the next section of rooms. He turned to face the fifteen troopers. "Prepare yourselves."

Raising his left forearm once more, he waved the device attached to his data-bracer over the release panel and was rewarded with a bright chirp. The locking mechanisms moaned and sputtered, but the doors parted nonetheless.

As the double doors opened, Bren felt the tug of changing air pressure brush past him and flow through the widening gap. _Negative pressure_. Bren looked back over at the glyph, noticing the tiny variations in the lines, and realized his first translation was slightly off. _Containment Wing_ was really _Quarantine Zone_. A bitter taste formed in between his mandibles as he wondered what exactly was in quarantine.

But there was no turning back now. Bren straightened up and marched through the doorway with his Plasma Repeater held ready.

The Quarantine Zone was brightly lit and almost every wall, ceiling, and flooring was antiseptic white. They stepped into the airlock room that separated the main hallway and a smaller, narrow hall with glass-walled rooms attached. Bren accessed the inner door and stepped into the narrow hall. Feeling completely exposed, he swept his gaze over the empty glass rooms but tried to keep his main attention forward. Whatever was previously studied in this sector, Bren couldn't guess.

The hallway ended with another larger corridor running perpendicular to it, branching off to either side. Only this T-junction shifted the laboratory-white scheme to a more ancient industrial look. The walls and ceiling had pipes of various shades of gray running down the length and disappearing at random angles. Even the floor was a rough, hexagonal pattern and looked worn from use. Consulting his waypoint, Bren sighed when the readout informed him that the Oracle was dead ahead and either path would work. Without even breaking stride, Bren started to his left.

He came to an abrupt stop when he was met with an energy field that suddenly flashed into existence. "Halt," he announced over his shoulder before his fellow soldiers could run into the back of him. The field rippled a watery blue and blocked any entrance from floor to ceiling. Turning around, he noticed the same energy field blocking the other through-way. Swearing an ancient curse, Bren felt his pulse begin to quicken._ Have we activated some security protocol?_

He searched the corridor with his gaze for some sort of console or holo-control to deactivate the field, but the pipe-laden walls contained no such promise. Growling out loud, Bren slammed a fist against the energy field. Expecting to feel the bone-jarring force of his anger, he was shocked to find the field bow under his clenched fist. He watched as the ripples expanded out over the surface of the watery substance to dissipate after a brief moment.

And for a breath, the field parted and opened up at the spot of his fist's impact.

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Bren brought his left forearm up and placed the passive Forerunner key on his data-bracer against the energy field. With a short delay in reaction, the field bubbled outward and an opening somewhat shorter than an average Sangheili blossomed.

Silently thanking his father, Bren waved the others through while holding his left arm up like a stagehand holding back a curtain. The field held the symmetrical arched doorway till Bren squeezed through with the last rear guard and the opening collapsed into itself, masking any indication anyone had passed through it.

Bren marched through the ranks to his original position at the head of their small formation and was pleased to find a pair of Sangheili already scouting ahead. Taking the initiative was a welcomed change to Bren and he wished more troop commanders would encourage it . . . to a certain extent. "Report."

Keeping his gaze looking forward, the one warrior to his right motioned with his Plasma Rifle to both sides of the corridor. "Similar to the previous hallway, only these rooms have been in use."

Frowning, Bren moved past the scout and peered through the hazy glass of the first room on his right. Inside the glass room on the floor at the far corner was what appeared to be the skeletal remains of a bipedal animal. Skin and muscle had long since rotted away and only semi-decalcified bones lay in a pile. The room itself was plastered in a dark brown substance, as if a gravity ball containing the putrid liquid had exploded.

"There is another over here," the scout on the left said quietly. "You might want to take a look at this, Ship Master."

Hoping this little excursion wouldn't take too long, Bren walked across the corridor to look into the opposite room. It was the same scene as the other, but the scout must have seen something . . .

"By the Forerunners," Bren breathed. Laying on the ground against the far glass wall was another skeleton. Only this one had the unmistakable skull structure of a Sangheili. Even the lower mandibles were clearly identifiable amongst the dusty remains. Bren shuddered at the sight and didn't know what to conclude. _Either the Oracle has been capturing all matter of life and studying it here, or others like us have gone before and found imprisonment as a reward for finding this station_.

_Or was that the Oracle's plan all along? Did he merely want more test subjects? _Recalling the _Quarantine Zone_ sign before they entered this portion of the station gave the findings of skeletal remains that much more worrisome. _What kind of pathogen did the Oracle use on my people? _Bile brewed in the back of Bren's throat. "Search the other cells," he ordered, pointing farther down the corridor.

As he waited for the pair of Sangheili to report back, he checked the Oracle's location and was relieved to find it had not moved since this most recent revelation.

Behind Bren, one of the Unggoy had removed his methane rebreather and was sniffing the air for any foul stench that he could detect. The Unggoy quickly fastened his mask back on and came up beside Bren. "The smell of death is still in the air," he said quietly to his commander. "Perhaps something more recently deceased is still up ahead."

Bren nodded and silently thanked the training officers these Spec Op troops had learned from. Even a lesser being such as an Unggoy was making himself useful. The scouting report came back with as much as Bren had feared: more skeletal remains of various species. He raised his voice for the other Covenant troops that stood in the corridor to hear. "This ends now."

He led the strike team around the corner where the corridor ended and broke off into a lobby with two symmetrical staircases to the left and a single oval-shaped lift stationed in the middle. A dozen large, translucent cylinders were placed on pedestals that formed a pathway from the bottom of the stairs to the door that would lead Bren and his warriors to the Oracle. The hazy brown cylinders contained various sized chunks of dark mass that were suspended in a thick yellow liquid. Bren could only guess as to what the Oracle had in those containers, but he figured "specimens" was the correct term.

"Ship Master?" a Sangheili beckoned behind him. "There is something heading our way."

"Ready weapons," Bren barked. He turned to a pair of warriors with gravity-retrieval units as he started for the door. "Come with me and we will capture this troublemaker." He knew calling an Oracle a "troublemaker" was a quick way to end his Fleet career, but the title fit the occasion. The two Sangheili followed and hefted the cumbersome devices in their hands, standing ready to fire at their Ship Master's side. Bren waved his left forearm over the holo-interface on the center of the door and anxiously waited for the locking mechanism to click in agreement.

"Contacts inbound," an Unggoy announced calmly.

Bren checked his motion tracker and sure enough, multiple moving objects were converging on all sides. _But from where?_ Looking up at the vaulted ceiling, he noticed the same octagonal hatch-like panels as before, only this time there was a greenish light at their base. Bren opened his mouth to inform his team of the possible impending targets' locations, but the release on the door finally clicked and rumbled open. Spinning on his right hoof, Bren turned his attention to the inside of the room.

Not just any room, but a full-fledged Control Room. Rows of holo-monitors lined the walls with all manner of consoles humming and blinking. The only light was from the multiple displays, and Bren's visor took a second to adapt to the darkness.

It was a trap. The Oracle had moved on and was no where to be found. As the realization of the deception hit him like an energy sword to his gut, Bren's motion tracker lit up like a _Jahrilli _Festival at night. Pouring out of multiple octagonal vents in the Control Room were mechanical insects the size of Unggoy . . . and they were orienting to the three Sangheili in the doorway.

Without waiting for human-like rules of engagement, Bren fired a burst of plasma at the nearest target. "Fall back!" he shouted, already backpedalling.

The two warriors at his side immediately stepped forward to physically shield their commander, and they started laying down covering fire with their Type-25 DERs while following Bren out of the room.

It didn't take long for the enemy drones to react, and rays of golden light lurched out from their under-slung cannons. The short bursts of energy struck the two Sangheili's shields, immediately collapsing them, and Bren knew the next barrage would slice his warriors to pieces.

Clearing the doorway, Bren pitched his Plasma Repeater to the ground and grabbed hold of both Sangheili. He half threw, half pulled them to the right and the three landed hard on the lobby floor.

But the situation in the lobby was no better than inside the Control Room. Pink needles and blue plasma filled the air from all around Bren as the golden energy beams swept over the breaking formation of Covenant. From up above, the mechanical drones were pouring into the lobby like roused bugs from the catacombs.

Bren's two warriors helped him to his hooves, and they began to add their plasma fire to the target-rich environment. Clenching his mandibles in rage, Bren pulled out a grenade, armed it, and launched it at the thickest cloud of targets spewing out from a vent. The plasma grenade latched on to the chassis of one unsuspecting enemy and detonated in a brilliant flash of blue. While the explosion didn't completely destroy the target, the drone fell like a rock toward the ground.

Only it didn't quite make it. The charred remains slammed into the upper edge of the glass cylinder positioned on the end of the nearest of the two rows. The force of the impact tipped the cylinder off it's pedestal to come crashing down on the next one in line, causing a chain reaction of the entire row.

"Get clear!" an Unggoy called, diving out from underneath the falling hazard of the second cylinder. But two Sangheili engaged in combat never heard the warning and took the weight of the glass container on their shoulders, pitching them to the floor. The hazy glass shattered, cutting through armor and flesh with ease, and the yellow liquid with dark brown globules spilled out onto the floor.

By now the mechanical keepers of the station were emerging from the Control Room, and Bren lined up his weapon. He paused. _Sentinels?_ Bren felt his mouth gape open and his aim wavered when he finally got a decent, up-close look at the drones. He had his suspicions but confirmed the theory in the span of a breath. Even with all of the Intel reports, he wasn't prepared to encounter his first Sentinel at point-blank range.

But instead of firing on the nearest Covenant, the Sentinels began moving toward the remains of the first broken cylinder. Focused on the spill and oblivious to their surroundings, Bren looked up as the last glass container tipped forward and landed right into the thick of the group of Sentinels, taking out a dozen in one enormous crash.

Turning his head to the side to shield his face from the blast, Bren noticed several Sangheili retreating into the safety of the stairwells towards the back of the lobby. Agreeing with this tactic, Bren raised his voice. "Make for the upper level!"

Stepping over the burned out chassis of a Sentinel, Bren waved his warriors ahead. Those Covenant already positioned at the base of the stairs started pouring on suppressing fire at the drones above. The lobby floor was littered with glass shards, nasty yellow liquid, and mechanical debris, and sadly, Bren noticed four more warriors had fallen in the short battle, their bodies in awkward, unnatural poses.

From the bottom of the left-most stairwell, an Unggoy yelled something unintelligible to Bren, but he kept running and firing at what was shooting at him, stepping to the left of the oval lift.

The only warning Bren 'Rangdamee had was the sensation of displaced air from behind him. He reflexively dove to his right to avoid whatever new threat had appeared- and the move saved his life.

A Sentinel had been shot down and landed on top of a dead Sangheili's body. A secondary explosion from the drone ignited the two plasma grenades still on the Sangheili's bandoleer. The one warrior accompanying Bren on the left took the brunt of the blast, but the wave of energy knocked the other forward to tumble over Bren's leaping form.

Pain spiked over Bren's upper back and his left arm went numb as he landed hard on the lobby floor with the fellow Sangheili's bulk pinning him down. His momentum carried him over the lift's round edge to land at the base of the console that controlled the raising and lowering of the lift. His head hit the short railing that glided down from the holo-control at a diagonal angle, and Bren saw stars explode before his eyes. He instantly tried to shake the blacking out sensation, knowing that if he fell into unconsciousness he would never make it out of the lobby alive. He had only one option left.

Still without feeling, Bren weakly raised his left forearm and made contact with the console's interface. The lift buckled at first, but soon began a quick and smooth descent into the lower levels of the _Quarantine Zone_. Fighting to stay awake, Bren shoved the dead body of the Sangheili warrior off of his torso and rolled onto his back, looking up at the diminishing circle of light that was the previous floor's lobby. The battle was still waging and Bren could see flashes of plasma cross over his collapsing view.

With labored breathing and pain throughout his body, Bren began to notice the darkness eating away at the corners of his vision. As much as he tried to fight, the blackness overwhelmed him.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Standing behind Douglas, Alice divided her attention between her motion tracker, the six entryways, and the holo-screens. "Just make it quick, okay?" she said through a knot forming in her stomach. "I don't think the Monitor is going to take that much longer."

Hunched over the central console, Douglas sighed. "It's times like these, I wouldn't mind having Serina here- or heck, even Anders- to sift through this mess," he muttered, pointing to one of the holo-screens. "All this alien babble is enough to make one's head spin."

Alice smiled behind her visor. It was only hours earlier when they hijacked a Phantom to head over to the Covenant cruiser that Douglas had denied such involvement from the AI. _Seems he's changed his mind_.

The both of them had determined that to just run off without any sense of direction would be a waste time. Douglas, being more tech-savvy than Alice, had taken it upon himself to try to find some sort of map or directory to guide them out. It just wasn't going as fast as they had hoped.

While the Monitor's Library consoles had plenty of pages containing text and static images of all sorts of lifeforms, all the Spartans wanted was an exit and a way to ditch the hummings of an alien AI.

But the more information that spilled out on the screens, the more Alice realized how grave the situation truly was. This wasn't some half-hearted attempt by an ancient civilization at playing a deadly game of genocide, but a determined plan to eradicate life from the galaxy. _And Doug's right; this isn't something_ we _can handle at the moment_.

Suddenly the overhead panels flashed from yellow to a rich, red hue, and on the leftmost console a window with scrolling red text popped up on screen. Alice snagged her MA5B rifle from behind her back and scanned the Library for any sign of danger. Douglas looked over at the alert, stepped to the console, and bit out a curse. "I think something just elevated the security protocols."

"Was it us?" Alice asked, turning around to maintain her visual scanning.

"I don't know; I doubt it. I was just searching files," Douglas growled.

Noticing that the doors leading into the Library were still open, Alice frowned. "We're not on any sort of lockdown here . . ." _Who else could have set off the alarms?_

Alice felt her pulse quicken and she spun on her heel to meet Douglas' gaze. "The ODSTs," they said together.

Ice settled in the pit of her stomach as Alice walked up to the console Douglas was attempting to access. "Can you find out where the breach is?"

Douglas looked over the console, searching for some sort of control panel or keypad. When none was found, he raised his hand and waved it over the holo-screen itself. The response from the console was a series of beeps and an image changed from text to an overview of the station, similar to a blueprint readout. "Finally," he breathed, sounding relieved.

The three-dimensional image showed a pulsing yellow dot at the central base of the station. "That must be where we are," Alice commented, pointing to the dot. She raised her finger to the glowing red section of a spire on the upper portion of the station. "And that must be were the trouble is."

Douglas tilted his head in confusion and pointed to the bottom of the holo-image of the station. "But the cruiser docked at a lower spire. How did the ODSTs make it up that far that fast?"

Alice shrugged uneasily in her armor. "Maybe they found a transit system."

"Right; something we could use," Douglas said, straightening up. "Okay, let me try this." He placed his hand through the hologram map and made a fist, as if he were grasping it. And amazingly, the holo-form moved with his touch. Douglas paused with the hologram in grip and gave Alice a look of surprise. "Um, I hope this works." He pulled his hand back to the base of his skull where the uplink connectors of his armor were. And as if collapsing into the MJOLNIR's hardware, the hologram vanished.

Douglas stumbled and Alice reached out to help him maintain his balance. Alice felt worry ripple over her scalp. "That was dumb, Doug." She held onto his left arm before his grip tightened on her right bicep. "You okay?"

As if absorbing the moment, Douglas shook his head then nodded. "Yeah," he answered quietly. "That was weird." He tapped the side of his helmet and shook off the last effects of the transfer. "But hey, we've got a map now."

Alice wanted to scold him like a child for meddling with things he had no idea how to control, but he wasn't a kid and she wasn't his mother. "Just let me know when you're going to do something crazy next time."

"Copy that." Douglas looked down for a moment before nodding once more. "There, you should have it now."

Sure enough, an icon on her HUD glowed into existence above her motion tracker. With a flick of her tongue, she activated the map- and nearly fell backwards when her visor went completely white for half a second before returning to normal opacity. When her heads-up-display returned it was supplemented by a outlining of everything she looked at. Raising her chin, she saw the angular shape of the consoles framed in green lines, while the places where walls met flooring and ceiling were a dull yellow.

"Huh," she said, thinking curiously. "This looks a lot like the ODST's VISR mode, only no low-light enhancement." Alice blinked several more times to clear the ghosting of the previous flash of white. "You want to grab anything else while we're here?" she asked, motioning with her assault rifle at the other consoles still displaying species data.

Douglas shifted his weight as he pondered the thought. "You think we should?"

Alice chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment as she thought about what ONI would say if they didn't. "_Probably_, but I don't think we can keep the ODSTs waiting."

"Right," Douglas agreed. He looked over to the nearest doorway and nodded. "All of these entryways lead out to an outer corridor ring. From there-"

He never finished his directions. From up above, emerging from the giant hole in the ceiling was Contrite Variant, humming to himself. Then as if suddenly remembering there were others in the room, the Monitor abruptly halted his previously lackadaisical cadence and quickly moved to block the Spartans' quick exit. "I have returned with the Index," he announced pridefully.

"Great," Douglas muttered, visibly tightening his grip on his SMG.

"Yes, it truly is great, isn't it?" the Monitor said.

Appearing by his side from descending, golden rings was what Alice perceived as the Index. Only this time it wasn't a hologram, but an actual, corporeal object. The haunting, greenish glow was as real as it got. Nervousness set her skin crawling when she knew what would be the next step: using said Index.

"Now we can continue the full activation of Installation 03." Contrite Variant lowered to meet the two Spartans at eye level.

"Wait a second," Douglas began. "We haven't even talked this over with our superiors yet."

The Monitor tilted his frame. "As I told you before, communications are temporarily disabled in compliance with security measures. Until the intruders have been dealt with, supra-luminous communications are unavailable." Contrite Variant's eye flickered once. "Are soldiers not able to make decisions on their own?"

Douglas exchanged a look with Alice that was all exasperation. "What?"

Confusing rippled over Alice's face. _For whatever reason, this alien AI is pressing the issue and attempting to appeal to our sense of duty_. In the span of a breath, Alice concluded that Contrite Variant was going to take both of them through the process even if it was unwillingly done so. "What about the alarms?" Alice asked when an idea sprouted in her mind. She motioned with the tip of her MA5B to the holo-screens. "Shouldn't we go and check it out?" _Maybe if we can get to the ODSTs faster_ _we'll have some added firepower when this AI proves hostile_.

Douglas nodded. "Yes, we could help."

"Your concern for security is unneeded," the Monitor replied disinterestedly.

"But if we help you with these intruders, then you can end the communications blackout and we can contact our superiors," Alice asked through clenched teeth. _How stubborn is this thing?_

Contrite Variant raised his chassis up and was a moment before responding. "I'm sorry, but there is no time to waste. We must take this new Index to Installation 03."

"Look, if you've waited this long, you can wait another hour or so," Douglas bit out.

"There is no time to waste," the Monitor repeated with more forcefulness than Alice thought possible. The soft blue in the AI's eye momentarily faded to an orange hue before returning to its normal color. "We will go, _now_."

Douglas shot Alice a warning glance as he lifted his SMG into firing position.

She nodded and duplicated his movements with her MA5B, settling into a crouch to dive to her left.

But once again the hazy golden rings descended over the Monitor and the two Spartans, freezing them in place and transporting them away. Alice could feel something tighten around her waist and arms, as if locking her in a vise. She heard Douglas shout and squeeze off a short burst, but it was too late. They were literally bound for Installation 03, like prisoners in a refugee caravan.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Sir?"

James Cutter looked up from his desk in his Captain's quarters and waved the Spartan in. "Please, come in." He stood and greeted the towering soldier with a firm handshake. "Would you like to sit down?"

Jerome came to a parade-rest stance, clasping hand over wrist behind his back. "No, thank you. I'm afraid if I did I would just nod off," he said evenly.

Inclining his head at the remark, James wondered if the Spartan was saying that he would fall asleep from tiredness or from the boredom talking to a superior officer was known to bring. James took a step backward and leaned back on the edge of his desk. Folding his arms across his chest, he searched Jerome's passive face. While the hardened physical presence of the Spartan matched the armor he normally wore, there was a tightness in his eyes that spoke of distraction. "How are you holding up?" Cutter asked.

Jerome frowned. "Sir?"

"Spartans 042 and 130 are currently MIA."

"A mere label, Sir."

A frown tugged at the corner of Cutter's lip. "I was wondering how you were doing in their absence."

The Spartan's only response was to deepen his expression.

James nodded to the terminal on his desk. "I've had several reports of you being found in almost every section of the ship, wandering around various decks like a ghost."

"I wasn't aware that my authorization status had been changed."

Cutter gave a flat smile. "A tech seeing someone as big as you in their work area tends to raise some concerns." He waved his hand to dismiss the train of dialog. "I am more interested in _why _you're roaming."

"Can't sleep," he said in an automatic response. But then Jerome worked his jaw for a breath, reconsidering his answer. "Anxiousness, Sir."

"About the rest of Red Team's status," James clarified, trying to read the man's rigid posture.

The Spartan nodded.

James placed his hands on the desk and pushed off. "You know, I don't have a whole lot of information on the three of you, given the small window of time from when we first picked you guys up on Arcadia till when we went off chasing the Covies to that shield world. I never was able to open up an encrypted channel to ONI, but I've come to place my full confidence in your abilities." James raised his chin ever so slightly. "I can only imagine what the three of you have been through during your career, and I'm sure the bond you share is incomparable on the battlefield. But believe me, son, when we get to our destination we'll find them."

"I don't doubt that we will, Sir," Jerome responded in a mechanical fashion, his eyes still focused on an indiscriminate spot on the back wall.

Raising an eyebrow, Cutter narrowed his eyes. "So how _are _you holding up?"

The Spartan's gaze shifted down to the Captain for a brief moment before returning to its original position. "Better, Sir. I was able to talk with Professor Anders and the conversation was very helpful."

_Anders? _"Well, I wouldn't expect the two of you to hit it off so well."

Jerome made an abbreviated shrug.

Cutter folded his arm across his chest, wondering if he should ask the man what the two had talked about, but James could read contentment in the Spartan's words and chose to drop it. "Well, if you still need to take a walk through Engineering, you might want to comm them ahead of time," James offered jokingly.

Jerome gave a quick shaking of his head. "I'll stop spooking the techs from now on," he added mildly.

Cutter laughed. "Ah, don't worry about them. It's been a while since we've had Spartans on board and some are still getting use to the idea."

"Let's hope they can adjust, Sir," Jerome muttered with a half-smile.

Taking the small amount of humor as a good sign, James softened his own expression. "And in the meantime, if you still need to talk . . ."

The stiffness in the Spartan's stance slackened and he let a smile fully form on his lips. "Thank you, Sir, but I'll be fine."

James held his watchful gaze on Jerome for a few more seconds before finally nodding. "Very well, Spartan. Dismissed."

Jerome straightened up and saluted till the Captain returned the act. He spun on his heel and walked out of the Captain's quarters.

James stared at the closed door for a while longer, pondering the outcome of a bond forming between the Professor and the Spartan. In his experience, military relationships either burned out quickly or grew to something lasting. James reached back behind him and picked up the framed, static hologram of Mary and Ruth, his wife and daughter. They were locked in an embrace, both beaming with smiles, and James felt a tightness form in his throat. His marriage to Mary was as lasting as it got, and the love they had shared over the years only grown into something he could only have dreamed of.

Closing his eyes and taking a labored breath, James felt a single tear streak down his face. _Mary, I swear that when I get back we'll settle down on some remote colony, far away from the racket of war_. James sniffled and cleared his eyes with thumb and forefinger. _But until then, I have a crew to prepare_.

* * *

Ellen Anders rubbed at the soreness in her neck, kneading the muscles at the base of her skull with her fingertips. Listening to the soft musical undertakings of a centuries-old composer playing over her lab's audio player, she let out a sigh and opened her eyes. The same string of coding was still running across her terminal screen, letting her know that Serina had not fallen below the threshold that would spark cause for concern. Ellen felt a brief wave of satisfaction wash over her. While Serina's avatar appearance was unusual, her higher functional programming hand not degraded one micron since her reboot. All in all, the success allowed Ellen to breath a bit easier.

With every free tech monitoring the AI's processes, Ellen was again put on the back burner as a secondary observer. At first she didn't mind it- it let her get away from frantic people and return to the solitude of her lab on the Observation Deck, but now the loneliness she had once welcomed seemed to press down on her from all sides. Ellen had always been a loner and it was a lifestyle she had accepted way back when she chose her field of study.

But then there was that awkward confrontation with the Spartan, Jerome. Ellen leaned back in her chair and frowned. He was a peculiar subject to her, someone that had seen so much bloodshed and yet his only deficiency was the guilt he carried for living through it. Anders raised her eyebrows. _Or maybe he's getting over it_. She grinned and shook her head. Ellen knew the impromptu lecture she had given to Jerome about guilt was something they both needed to hear, and with effort they could forgive themselves of past travails which they had no control over.

A rhythmic rap on the door at the far end of the room broke her trail of thought. She lifted her head and frowned. _Who could that be?_ Pursing her lips and standing up, she put her lab coat on over her sleeveless red blouse she had grown accustomed to wearing and started for the door. She stepped over a pile of datacards and walked through a narrow gap between a pair of wheeled equipment racks to come to a stop at the door. Suppressing a shiver from the usual colder temperature of the Observation Deck, Ellen pulled her white lab coat tighter around her torso. She flipped on the tiny exterior camera she had set up to see who or what was outside in the hallway and watched the image on the small wall-mounted monitor materialize into the form of a familiar man. She hit the door's release button.

Ellen felt some of the tension she had gathered on her way to the door melt away when Jerome stood tall and strong before her. He wasn't a terribly muscular man, but one that was perfectly fit from head to toe. His close-cropped, black hair matched his full eyebrows, and the stubble on his face told her had had no trouble growing a beard- _if _ONI regulations allowed for one. His dark brown eyes helped frame his angular face that, along with his name, must have been passed down from his Greek heritage. Ellen undoubtedly found him handsome, and the crooked smile he now wore only enhanced his charming looks. "Jerome," she prompted, giving him a curt nod of her head.

"Profes-" he caught himself mid-word and his brows met together. "Ellen," he corrected, sounding more like a statement of fact rather than a greeting. "I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time," Jerome said in one held-out breath.

Ellen shook her head and took a casual glance at her wrist chrono. Her eyes widened when she noticed the time; it was well into the evening hours. _I've spent all day looking at code?_ She almost didn't believe it, but the sudden growling of her stomach told her how little attention she had paid to the clock. "No, no. I just didn't realize how late it was," she answered when she recalled that the Spartan had asked a question.

Jerome pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "I can come back later . . . or tomorrow."

Smiling, Ellen grabbed his left elbow and gently pulled him through the doorway. "It's okay. I could use some company." She immediately let go of his elbow, turned her back to him, and rolled her eyes at the triteness of her own statement. She walked over another pile of datacards then decided to pick them up to make the place a little more presentable. Gathering them in her hands, she placed them on one of the equipment racks and pulled the cart over to the wall to open up the deck's see-through floor space.

Ellen turned back around to see that Jerome had not moved from where she had previously let go of him. "What's this music playing?" Jerome asked, lifting his chin in the air with a look of concentration on his face. "Sounds . . . familiar."

Anders snorted quietly. "You know it?"

The Spartan shook his head.

Pulling out the compact datapad she used to network the finer furnishings in her lab, she held it out in front of her so Jerome could read the name she couldn't pronounce.

"Never heard of him. I like it, though," he said softly.

Ellen stuffed the datapad back into the right front pocket of her lab coat. "I've always had a fascination with the independent composers from Iceland in the early part of the millennium. Do you know any of them?"

Again, the Spartan shook his head. "Not by name, but I haven't had much time to sit and listen to much of anything since . . . well, ever, I guess."

"Oh," Anders said, casting her gaze to his shuffling feet.

"Would you mind if I sat and listened?"

Anders looked up into Jerome's face, his flesh tight around his eyes. "Uh, of course," she managed through a cracking voice. She cleared her throat and motioned with her hand to the stiff fold-out cot she used for taking quick naps in between long periods of work. She walked over to the cot pressed against the wall and gathered up yet another pile of datacards with one hand and shook out the small blanket with the other. "Sorry for the mess."

Jerome chuckled. "I'm sorry for imposing." He bent down and picked up the wadded jacket that Anders used for a pillow. His hands gently unfolded the tangled knot of fabric, straightened the jacket, and then folded it once to drape over his left forearm.

Ellen eyed him as she took the wrinkled jacket from Jerome, placing it at the foot of the cot. "Surely you didn't come just to listen to some long-dead composer's piano concerto. " She frowned and leaned in closer. "Did you?" she asked, wondering if the volume of the music had been too loud in the first place.

Slowly sinking into the cot's stiff surface, Jerome shrugged. "Sort of." He was silent for another three measures of ethereal, harmonizing violins. "I had a little chat with the Captain."

Raising an eyebrow at the statement, Ellen waited for the Spartan to continue, but he apparently was waiting for her prompting. "How did that go?"

Jerome looked up and gave her a flat smile. "He wanted to make sure I wasn't losing it."

A waved of embarrassing warmth flushed her face red. "Hey, I never told him what we talked-"

He held a hand up to forestall her explanation. "No, it's okay. I didn't mean it like that." He sighed and stared down at his boots. "When I mentioned that you and I had a conversation, Cutter seemed surprised." Jerome raised his eyebrows soberly. "_I'm _surprised we even _had _a conversation."

"Afraid we were too different from each other?" Anders asked, though the question sounded odd coming out.

"In a sense." He scratched at the back of his neck and looked up at her. "I just wasn't expecting to feel better afterwards."

Ellen smiled and folded her arms across her chest. "Sometimes talking does that. You should try it more often."

Jerome mirrored her expression. "With Alice and Doug, I really don't have to. We just . . . understand each other, you know?"

Ellen nodded, even though she only partly knew of what the man spoke. He had previously mentioned how the three Spartans had almost a "situational awareness" of each other on the battlefield, and it was no speculation to think some of that same unit functionality carried over into their downtime. _So what is he getting at here?_ In hindsight, Ellen actually enjoyed talking with Jerome, even _if _getting him to say something was as hard as tasting flavor from a UNSC ration bar. Taking a seat on the edge of the opposite end of the cot, she frowned lightly. "So why _did _you come here?" she asked as gently as possible.

Jerome half turned his head to give her a quick glance. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hands and opened them wide to encompass the entire Observation Deck. "I needed . . . this. This peacefulness, here . . . this comfort." Jerome collapsed his hands onto his lap and looked Ellen full in the face. "I needed a friend."

Ellen felt her eyebrows raise in shock over his words but quickly regained control over her expression. Deep down, she realized the feeling was mutual, but hearing the words out loud brought a realness that attached itself to the seed of emotional responses she had bundled up in her head. Friendship was something of a luxury in her line of work that she couldn't really afford. Even past acquaintances had been just that: past. But now, here in this wide-open, see-through flooring deck, Ellen knew something was forming between her and Jerome. Something that made her heart race like never before.

_Is it the way he's looking at me? _Jerome's dark eyes were piercing to her soul, as if they were looking right into her very thoughts. Ellen had never truly considered a relationship in this stage of her life because there was always so much to do and so little time to analyze. But Jerome's gaze was not telling her how badly he would want to sleep with her, rather the softness around his eyes was asking for her trust.

Trust, in a friend. And that made him more attractive to her than anything else he could have said or done right then and there.

Ellen blushed. "I needed a friend, too." She reached out her right hand and gave his arm a squeeze. "Thank you for that."

In the background, the music faded out in a decrescendo and left Anders and the Spartan alone in the silence that followed. The moment lasted for a few seconds before the next musical piece swelled into existence, and Ellen sighed appreciatively as the peacefulness continued to last. But the volume of the first measure of the movement did little to cover Ellen's growling stomach, and she pulled her hand away from Jerome to rest it on her abdomen in a feeble attempt to quell the noise. "Sorry," she apologized. "I haven't eaten anything all day."

Jerome sat upright. "I could eat. Do you want to go grab something from the galley?"

As much as Ellen wanted to get out of her lab and stretch her legs, she really didn't want to break the relaxing mood the music was easily setting. She wasn't trying to seduce the slightly younger man- as far as she could tell, but the tension she had built up during the day was easing out of her with every minute she spent with him. Ellen couldn't quite explain it, couldn't really tell if it was the dreaded word: love, but she was content and figured Jerome was too.

"Actually, I have some ready-made meals here," Ellen suggested casually, feeling a bit playful now that the seriousness of the conversation had passed.

Jerome raised a single eyebrow. "You have a flash down here?"

She gave a crooked smile. "Hey, when you spend days in a lab, it never hurts to have warm food for a change." Ellen bounced a fist off of Jerome's thigh and started for the small kitchenette counter to her left. She picked up the only two flash-meals left and held them up for Jerome to see. "How 'bout it? Rice or noodles?" She shook each packet to rattle the internal contents, as if enticing him like an owner would a pet. _Oh, no. I've been cooped up here for too long. _"Cooks in a flash," Ellen said with a grin. _What am I, giddy? _

Jerome chuckled at her remark. "Nice pun." He pointed to the one in her left hand. "I'll take the noodles."

Ellen nodded and placed the individual meals in the flash one at a time, and within a minute, she had returned to the cot with their late night dinner complete with eating utensils, sani-wipes, and two bottles of water. She handed Jerome his meal and took a seat beside him. "It's no _Clarine's_, but it works for me."

"Thank you," Jerome said, taking the multiple items. "I like the environment here better."

"Great company?" Ellen said with an exaggerated smile.

"Um, the absence of bad company, really," Jerome joked. He knocked his left knee against her right knee and laughed. "Kidding, of course."

"I know." Ellen softened her smile and took her first bite of the steaming rice and vegetable mix. It was nice to have someone that understood her dry humor- what little she possessed- and Jerome was good company. Even their ability to joke about _Clarine's_, a rough and tumble dive located on the outskirts of Arcadia's capital, spoke of their comfort level.

They finished their meals without another word, taking in the melodious harmonies of the string quartet as adequate banter to fill the void. Placing their empty trays on the ground, they both leaned back against the wall and exhaled simultaneously. She rolled her head over to the right to see Jerome smiling at their similar reaction. In actuality, the food wasn't that good, but having _something _in her stomach was really all she needed. "Are you . . ." she trailed off when she stifled a yawn. "Excuse me," she said, cupping a hand over her mouth.

Jerome patted her on the knee. "You should get some sleep." He leaned forward to get up.

"Wait," Ellen said softly, taking hold of his left hand on impulse. It was warm to the touch, albeit a little dry, but comforting nonetheless. "You don't have to go so soon." Ellen tried to convey her words to be more of a suggestion than a plea, and she hoped the meaning was properly understood.

A gentle squeeze from his hand gave her the assurance he knew. Jerome looked down at their hands and returned to his previous leaning position next to Anders. "If you'd like," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ellen felt her heartbeat quicken and warmth flooded into her veins as the proximity of male and female closed. Locked in the moment, Ellen wondered if they were both on the threshold of physical intimacy, and she honestly would not have minded it. In fact, the burning inside told her she longed for it. No one would question their motives or desires. And here she was, a professor that was throwing out all analytical thoughts and reacting to what her emotions and her instincts were screaming at her.

Not even thinking about it, she took the back of her left hand and gently stroked his cheek.

But when Jerome's right hand came up, he closed his fingers around hers and brought both of their hands down to rest on the other pair resting on her thigh. Jerome sighed and let his head sag against hers. "I'm sorry, Ellen. I . . ."

A fresh wave of embarrassment washed over her as his words came out with much difficulty. "Look, I'm sorry," she breathed. "I thought we were on the same page."

A puff of his exhale tickled the hair above her ear. "No, believe me. I'm sure we were on the same paragraph and sentence. But . . ."

Ellen slowly lifted her head and let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "I know. It's a little too soon."

Opening his mouth to say something but quickly clamping down his lips, Jerome smiled. "Not to say I don't want to." He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Smiling at his attempt at flattery, she playfully poked him in the ribs. "Considering the only other women you've see have been military types?"

He winced at the jibe, but caught her prodding finger. "You know what I mean," he said, smiling. "Just take the compliment." Jerome raised his left arm up and pulled Ellen in close for a sideways hug.

She returned the gesture by wrapping her arms around his torso, and she laid her head on his chest. "Fair enough."

As they sat there, locked in an embrace, Ellen couldn't help but appreciate Jerome's self-control and respect he had just displayed. She knew she had been acting out of overriding passion, and the Spartan's ability to recognize it and bring her down softly was comforting. Going so long without a meaningful relationship made her nearly forget what it felt like to be truly wanted by someone else.

It was a good place to be.

As she rested, half cradled in Jerome's arms, she felt her eyelids grow heavy as the music let her mind settle and drift off into sleep. In her dreams, Ellen couldn't tell what all was happening, but the overall themes were coated in happiness and better days to come.

* * *

During the few shimmering seconds the weightless transportation to the Monitor's destination took, Alice figured she and Douglas had two options. The first was to just start shooting and hope to damage the alien AI enough that they could get away. The second option was to bide their time and wait for a better opportunity to escape. _But our time just ran out_.

When the golden haze settled at her feet, Alice hit the ground running- only to slam right into a solid wall. She took the brunt of the impact on her right shoulder and spun and rolled to her right, pressing her back against the wall. She let her eyes take in her surroundings before moving again and was confused to find herself in what looked like a glorified fighting pit. The small shiny room was circular with silver pipes running along the upper portion of the curved wall. A single basic console was to Alice's right, and a raised, glowing platform was situated at the center.

She looked past the glare of the platform to spot Douglas against the opposite side, looking relatively unhurt. "You okay?" she called out, her voice sounding oddly metallic as it reverberated.

"Yeah," he answered gruffly. Douglas shook his head and touched his helmet with both gloved hands. It was then that Alice noticed he wasn't carrying his SMG. The male Spartan held his pose for a few more seconds before straightening up. "I think that Lightbulb gave me a good shock."

Sounding like a voice coming from behind solid glass, the Monitor entered the conversation. "I'm afraid the use of firearms against a Caretaker is strictly prohibited."

"Where are you?" Douglas demanded, searching to his left and right.

"Easy, Doug," Alice said loud enough only to transmit via her comm. "Let me try something." _Time for Plan C: Improv_. "Okay, Monitor. You win; we'll go with you." Even when she heard Douglas hiss an exasperation, she mentally crossed her fingers but kept a firm grip on her weapon.

Alice was able to take three full breaths before another set of golden rings quivered into existence to her left, Douglas' right, and their AI companion appeared before them. Contrite Variant switched it's gaze back and forth between the two Spartans, as if trying to determine which to keep an eye on. "Very well," the Monitor said hesitantly.

"Okay," Alice breathed, watching the alien AI carefully and noticing the glowing green Index now fixed to the Monitor's upper chassis. A glint of metal caused her gazed to shift downward and she spied Douglas' weapon, resting on the black grated floor directly below the Monitor. _Damn_. She waved Douglas over around the other side of the platform, as she took a cautious step forward. _If I can block the Monitor's view, maybe Doug can grab my extra pistol _. . .

"This chamber houses the Stasis Transfer System," Contrite Variant began, starting to sound normal again. "This can instantaneously move us from Installation B-23 to Installation 03 and back again."

"So we're not at 03 yet?" Alice asked, trying to sound confused.

The AI chuckled. "Of course not." The Monitor tilted his forward frame up and the console behind Alice started to hum. "But this will take us there."

The central platform suddenly illuminated at its base, bathing the circular room in blue light. Tendrils of white mist unfolded from the center of the ceiling to form a perfect cylinder with the platform. Even in the midst of such dire circumstances, Alice still found the technology laden throughout the station mesmerizing.

Trying to further divert the AI's attention, Alice took another step forward and waved her left hand in a sweeping motion towards the platform. "After you."

Oblivious to Douglas now shielded behind Alice, the Monitor dipped down to the Spartan's eye level. "Why yes. Follow me," Contrite Variant beckoned. The AI entered the platform and began to glow when the tendrils of light reached out to gather its frame.

Alice force herself to take another step- but her foot never made contact with the ground. A firm tug on her left arm halted her forward moment and she stumbled backward.

The Monitor turned around to face Alice, its eye flickering in the wash of light. "_What_ are you-"

"Have a nice flight," Douglas murmured.

Alice turned to see Douglas hit a glowing orange holo-button on the console as he gave a mock salute to Contrite Variant. Alice spun back around just in time to see the Monitor vanish in a flash of bluish-white light. The platform was clear and the two Spartans were alone in the chamber.

Adrenaline mixed with anxiousness flooded into Alice's veins and she quickly lifted her MA5B and brought the butt end of the weapon down on the console, smashing it over and over till the glow of the platform ceased to exist. She breathed heavily, not wanting to turn around to see if the Monitor had returned. But she felt a weighted hand on her shoulder, and it brought her face to face with her fellow Spartan.

"It's gone," Douglas said into the silence. "Though for how long . . ." He trailed off and shook his head in a worrisome manner.

Alice let her thoughts gather themselves. "Okay, if Installation 03 was far enough away that the Monitor's transportation grid couldn't reach it, then let's hope we have long enough to get out off this station."

"Right," Douglas agreed. He walked over to his SMG and scooped the weapon up in his hands. Douglas panned his head around the chamber and shrugged. "So how do we get out of _here_?"

Alice glanced at the demolished console and swore under her breath. "Um, we might have a slight problem."

"How so? Oh," Douglas said, drawing out his last word. "Well," he began, running his left hand over the portions of the outer wall that wasn't covered in pipes, "there must be a release switch around here somewhere, right?"

Alice pursed her lips together and fought back the urge to mentally beat herself up. In her attempt to cut off the Stasis Transfer System's power to leave the Monitor stranded on Installation 03, she had managed to cut off their only exit. _Of all the things done in haste, I had to smash the one thing that_- She broke off her self-admonishment when she remembered the recently added feature to her heads-up-display: the alien mapping overlay. She flicked the appropriate switch in her helmet with her tongue and the chamber was quickly bracketed by various colored lines. The now deactivated platform was pulsing in red while the rest of the circular room was mostly framed by green angles.

As she slowly panned her head from left to right, a subtle flashing of yellow caught her eye and she crossed over to it, brushing past Douglas.

"Find something?" he asked.

"Maybe," Alice said distractedly. Pointing to the spot on the wall where she had noticed the yellow anomaly, she waved him over. "Turn on that map enhancement we grabbed from the Library console and tell me if you see anything here."

Douglas complied and was soon at her side. "Yeah," he said curiously. He leaned forward and ran his hand directly under the lowest hung pipe. "Right . . . here."

His last word was punctuated by a deep thud and a short vibration. A two-meter wide section of the chamber wall retracted vertically like a window shutter, and a rectangular portion of the floor lowered to reveal a brightly lit passageway that bisected both wall and floor.

Alice exchanged a look with Douglas. "A maintenance hatch?" she suggested.

Douglas shrugged. "That'd be my guess. Let's hope it dumps us out somewhere close to the ODSTs."

Alice nodded and followed Douglas through the opening. If she was keeping proper track of time, roughly half an hour had passed since the alert sounded in the Library. She had no idea how the UNSC soldiers were faring against the station's defenses, but Alice prayed she and Douglas would get there before it was too late.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Fairly certain he was dead, Bren 'Rangdamee wondered why his body still ached. He thought that surely the afterlife was something more pleasant than his previous corporeal state, or at least be void of feeling pain. Angry at this new revelation, Bren opened his eyes to find himself in a room bathed in soft, yellow light. _So I'm not dead_. Bren didn't fear death, for if it was an honorable one, it would be a good end to his life. His faith in the Forerunners restored, the Ship Master slowly sat up, despite the nausea brewing in his head.

He was still on the lift platform he had used to escape the battle above, but now he was at the lowest of four levels of the _Quarantine Zone_ as shown by the small readout on the lift's console.

Bren waited till the spinning of his vision ceased and he let his thoughts catch up to his current conditions. He looked up at the now sealed shaft that the lift traveled through and knew if he were to ride it back up into the fray he would most likely get cut down before he left the platform. Bren frowned, and with a rocking motion got to his hooves. He looked down to find his weapons no longer on his person and bent down to pick up the fallen Sangheili's Plasma Rifle. Bren also appropriated the dead warriors bandoleer and swore out loud when he noticed the stiff pain in his lower back. Grunting through the ordeal, he straightened up and tried to stretch his muscles as best he could.

Suppressing the pain, Bren stepped off the lift platform and walked towards the arched doorway that contained the source of the eerie yellow light. Knowing that a pack of Sentinels could appear at any moment, Bren was still relieved to find his motion tracker void of contacts. Wincing from the pain in his back that compounded with each step, he wondered if he would even be up to fighting at all.

Through the archway was more of the same glass-like cylinders found in the upper level of the _Quarantine Zone_, only these were larger and back-lit by multiple lights. Bren walked down the middle of the two rows of cylinders containing hazy, bipedal-like forms and soon found himself in the next adjacent chamber.

He had barely placed his left hoof onto the new tiled flooring when he froze in place. The circular arena's walls reached upward to vanish into a distant viewpoint Bren couldn't see. Countless containers resembling Human Cryo-pods jutted sideways and halfway out from the walls, like some giant cocooning hive. Large armatures with vises attached to their ends were folded up against four pillars that rose up from the center of the chamber. And placed in between the pillars was a two-tiered platform that pulsed with a green glow. Terminals situated on both lower and upper levels beckoned to be accessed.

A faint rapping of recognition in the back of his mind began to increase with each bated breath he took. A wave of excitement washed over Bren as he recalled the unknown fate of the legion of troops the Prophet of Regret had abandoned on a Forerunner shield world. _Could this be where they ended up? Harvested by a crazed Oracle? _Bren knew the shield world had been in this area of the galaxy, a fact his father had informed him of several years back, but he wondered if anyone in the Covenant knew of what else the sector held as far as Forerunner relics were concerned. Bren's father had told him how arrogant and blind the Prophet of Regret was, citing that the Hierarch had classified a number of systems "off limits," and it seemed to Bren that this station and possibly others were what Regret was hiding all along.

Bren looked down at his armored hands and frowned. _But why didn't I think of this connection before? Has my hunt for the Oracle shielded my eyes so much as to not see the truth sitting right in front of me?_ Growling at his own incompetence, Bren bounced the butt-end of his weapon against his opened left hand.

He knew he had taken a great risk trying to extract the Oracle out from under the Humans' grasp, but the benefits of obtaining such recognition and prestige out weighed the possible ramifications involved. Even entering such a holy Relic as this station should have been taken with caution, but instead he had plowed his way onward to find a vanishing Oracle and more dead Covenant. _Maybe the Forerunners never intended us to capture an Oracle, only to implore it where they were found: in Relics across the galaxy_. Bren nodded to himself. That has to be it. Surely the Council could see that.

Bren 'Rangdamee straightened up to his full height, despite the glaring pain in his back, and breathed deeply the recycled air from his armor's rebreather. Bren had to inform the Council of this place. Even if went against a Hierarch's decree- the potential to better the Sangheili's understanding of the Forerunners was too great to pass up.

With sure steps, he made his way to the nearest terminal found on the lower level of the platform. As he walked, Bren raised his head up to stare at the vastness of the complex. _There must thousands of pods. Though what is in them . . . _Even with his limited knowledge of Forerunner glyphs, Bren quickly found the recall-release query from the last accessed pod.

In a smooth, fluid motion, the armature to Bren's right retracted from its pillar and reached out to grab one of the pods a dozen paces away. As pressurized air hissed out around the seal of the pod, the armature hauled its target out of the emplacement and gently set it down on the second tier, a stairway above Bren. He marched up the walkway and noticed the armature returning to its original position on the pillar.

On the second tier of the platform, a row of consoles with what looked like diagnostic equipment lined the entire back section. Smaller cylinders with varying shades of yellow and blue contents were stacked to Bren's left while the recalled pod was resting tall on a specialized holding clamp. A dais-shaped terminal was off to the pod's left and he started for it. But as he took his first real look at the pod itself, Bren noticed something peculiar about the hazy form beyond the glass. It was moving. "By the Forerunners," he breathed.

Bren got to within arm's reach before his hearts nearly leaped out of his chest. It wasn't some Sangheili warrior- or even a Jiralhanae brute- but something that made Bren's flesh pucker beneath his armor. Though only familiar to him by the frightful stories of others, Bren knew what was before him. Bipedal in origin, with tentacles for arms and an asymmetrical head, it was a sickening sight. Enshrined in the thick glass cylinder was a form of the Flood. _The Infection_.

The Ship Master lifted his gazed and stood gape-mouthed at the other containers too numerous to count. _Why on Sangelios would anyone want to keep the Flood alive? _As he circled around in place, Bren felt his head was spinning as well, confused at what the Forerunners had done. He quickly returned to the lower-level terminal and let the left armature retrieve a different pod from the other side of the chamber, but the result was the same. The chamber wasn't filled with his brethren but with the most vile thing the Covenant had ever faced. Even Humans were considered worthier adversaries.

A bitter taste was on his tongue. With stiff mandibles, Bren returned the pods back to their places and wanted to smash the consoles all around him. _Why? Why would the Forerunners keep the Infection alive?_

When the pair of armatures returned to their resting places against the pillars, the chamber fell eerily quiet. He Growled to himself and headed out back towards the lift. Bren didn't want to be alone with his thoughts for fear that his faith in the Forerunners would quickly turn to skepticism. What he wanted was answers. What he didn't have was the luxury of asking questions in this forsaken place.

He needed to get back to the Fleet and warn the rest of the Covenant about this station, to destroy it if need be. He wondered if he shouldn't try to do that himself. Thoughts of glory echoed in his mind.

Stepping onto the lift platform, Bren rolled the dead Sangheili off the edge by raising his hoof under the warrior's torso and giving it a forceful push. He glanced at the lift's controls and pondered his choices. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but not knowing any other way back to the waiting Phantom, he had little choice but to risk another encounter with the Sentinels.

He reached out to activate the lift, but his three-fingered hand paused over the controls when the passive Forerunner device equipped to his data-bracer came into view. He replayed the previous battle in his mind and the smallest seed of realization was fighting to take root in his thoughts. When his position was exposed to new Sentinels, they didn't fire at him. _Was it because of this device? By simulating that which overrides security lockdown . . . is this what saved me?_ Bren closed his eyes and silently thanked his father once more.

But then, Bren frowned. Not only had the Sentinels violently reacted to the shattered cylinders, but they had purposely ceased fired on the Covenant troops._ Would the rest of my crew think of such a tactic? Not even knowing what was resting inside the yellow liquid? _If any of his brethren were still alive, he had to stop them before more Flood could be released.

Bren keyed for the first level- the place of carnage- and braced himself for combat, shunting away the pain.

* * *

Sergeant Gregory Williams scratched at the hair above his left ear, relieving the itch he so badly wanted to be rid of.

"You okay, Sarge?"

Williams abandoned his task and returned his helmet to it's rightful place on top his head. "Damn padding's worn off."

"Don't make 'em like they used to?" Sergeant Miller chided.

Greg gave him a warning glare, knowing the fellow sergeant wasn't much younger and by putting an "old man" quote into the conversation was a quick way of ending one. "Everyone up?"

With a deep breath that seemed to bring Miller back into a professional manner, he nodded. "A few need to take a leak, but we'll be mobile in two minutes."

"Good."

Their trek to the central base of the orbiting station had taken almost an entire day, so the two sergeants had agreed to stop for a few hours for some much needed rest. The only problem had been to find an adequate place to bunk for the evening hours. Most ODSTs were use to either sleeping in HEVs or out in the open elements of some foreign planet. The warehouse-like architecture left many open areas that would be prone to enemy attack, had there been one. They couldn't even dig a trench to sleep in, so Williams had sent out a few half-squads to stake out the area.

After brief exploration, Parker's team had found what appeared to be a generator room. While it did house some odd looking equipment, it was sectioned off with a door that would provide the ODSTs with some adequate cover, should they need it. But it did leave those sleeping in close quarters with one another, and the constant night-watch shift change made Greg wonder if anyone slept at all.

According to Williams' calculations they were only two heavy doors away from the central base, but he had wanted his troopers rested before entering new territory. He only hoped that the next spire over would be a little less mundane. _Although that usually means trouble_, Greg thought soberly. Suppressing a yawn, he stood and walked out of the generator room into the main hallway they had traveled down for hours.

After a quick status update from the squad near the double doors, he marched up to where Miller was now standing at the control panel for the doors' release.. "All accounted for?"

"Affirmative." Miller motioned with his left hand down both sides of the corridor. "Alpha and Bravo ready to go."

Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind of the last remnants of unconscious fog, he nodded. "Punch it."

The double doors split diagonally in a 45 degree angle and retracted to either side to reveal what Williams was expecting: an enormous open area big enough to accommodate a medium-sized UNSC frigate. But surprisingly, the sound of the doors opening didn't echo at all. _Must be some fancy sound suppressing technology_. He didn't waste any time gawking at the vastness of space and led the two groups through the now opened doorway. But with each step, Williams found his gazed sweeping over every meter of the place with amazement in his eyes.

At first, the portion of the central base they were in looked like a boxy hangar with triangular rafters overhead, but upon closer inspection Williams discovered rocky formations framed everything. Even the high arched ceiling looked to be cut from stone and he wondered if this part of the station had been sculpted from a small moon.

Sergeant Miller came alongside him. "Where's Winters?" Williams asked.

"Already at the next spire's door panel," Miller informed, pointing off to their right.

Greg spied the trio of ODSTs with datapads in hand, conferring with one another. "He definitely wants to be right this time," he muttered.

"We all do," Miller said. "From what we know, these spires are pretty linear, so pinpointing the source of that jamming signal should be fairly easy from here."

And sure enough, Corporal Winters' datapad beeped an affirmation and he gave the two sergeants a thumb up. The similar-shaped double doors parted open and the three ODSTs herded through the doorway.

Williams looked out among his troopers and waved them on, feeling a renewed sense of vigor. He had no clue how long they had till the _Spirit of Fire_ arrived, but for the fate of the crew aboard, Williams wasn't going to let them down.

* * *

Captain Jame Cutter tried waiting patiently for the lift to bring him down to Engineering and yet found himself drumming his fingers on the outside of his thighs. He had just finished up a briefing with his Shortsword and Longsword squadron leaders and was now on his way to meet with Engineer Andrew Prescott at his pertinent request. Not telling him any details, Cutter knew it had to have been either great news or really, really bad news. Drew was always one for dramatics. The _Spirit of Fire_ was still thrumming through slipspace, so James figured it was good news he had.

With a final chirp, the lift doors parted and Cutter stepped onto the brightly lit Engineering level. He weaved his way down the corridors past several techs walking with their heads bowed over datapads and came to the control room where Prescott spent most of his time.

In contrast to Professor Anders' lab, Prescott kept his place of work neat and free of clutter. The three large desks that lined the left, right, and rear walls were empty except for the computer gear and the individuals manning them. At the center of the room was a simplified version of the AI pedestal found on the bridge. Prescott was standing there talking with Serina in low tones when he noticed the Captain's presence. "Ah, you were quick to get down here," he said lightly.

"It sounded urgent," James replied with a flat smile. He nodded to Serina and stepped to the pedestal. "Progress?"

Serina and Prescott exchanged glances as if either wasn't sure who should answer, but it was the Chief Engineer that spoke. "Amazingly so, actually." He pointed to a screen off to his left, James' right, and the rotating image of the_ Spirit of Fire'_s crest was replaced by graphical gauge readouts with all manner of electrical and quantum terms Cutter was only vaguely familiar with.

Serina led the explanation. "Sir, I've managed to run my own diagnostics on the FTL drive we extracted from _Tradewind_," she began. "I believe I can modify," she paused and seemed to consider her words, "well, let's just say I can get her going faster."

Raising an eyebrow, James leaned his head forward. "How much faster are we talking?"

"It would shave almost 36 hours off our slipspace travel time," Andrew Prescott answered.

James frowned, feeling oddly skeptical. "How is that possible? Drew, you told me the mapping ship's drive was underpowered to make our normal velocity through slipspace."

Prescott pursed his lips for a moment. "That was before Serina had an interesting idea. By allocating power from the _Spirit of Fire_'s main reactor and with a quick rework of some capacitor stations, it's possible." He raised his eyebrows. "The only setback is that we'll have to lower the electrical output for other systems."

"Such as?"

"Environmental and illuminating systems," Serina responded. "If we combine barracks and ward off sections of the ship that won't be used till Weapons Systems become necessary, then yes, we can cut our Slipstream time by a day and a half."

Cutter folded his arms across his chest and nodded. It all sounded a little too good to be true. His ship now had a functional FTL drive with the onboard AI streamlining slipspace travel. Even his troop commanders were getting anxious at the thought of rescuing the ODSTs and Spartans off the Covenant cruiser. James had even been mulling over the technical readouts of Installation B-23 from Anders' datapad and knew the task before them wouldn't be as simple as a grab-and-go extraction."What are the risks?" he asked.

"Minimal, of course," Serina said. "The extra strain on the FTL drive will reduce its lifespan, but _Tradewind_'s crew took very good care of it. It will get us to our destination as currently projected, but our return trip home would better be handled at a fraction of the power."

The very mention of "home" seemed to still the room as technicians at their desks paused their work. "Home" was where everyone wanted to be. "Home" was what they were looking forward to. "Home" was what kept them going.

James nodded again and looked over at Prescott. "Can you confirm all of this?"

"Sir, we've ran the numbers a thousand times and Serina's logic is sound. We'd still need to run a couple simulations on our journey back to UNSC-controlled space, as well as compare the navigation data we've obtained with our own."

Cutter unfolded his arms and gathered his hands at the small of his back. "One step at a time, Drew." He glanced over to Serina. "How soon can you implement this plan?"

"Anytime, Sir," she said with a smile.

"Will we need to bring the _Spirit of Fire_ out of slipspace?"

"That will not be necessary." Serina shifted her weight. "Though informing the crew that their cabins could get a little chilly might be a good idea before we begin."

James worked his jaw for a moment. Even with the logistical nightmare of moving half his crew to quarter with the other, it would still give them the best odds to get to the Spartans in time. "I'm sure the sacrifice of 'close company' will be worth the cost to everyone." James took a half step backward. "I'll alert the crew of the plan, and once I get the word from the quartermaster that all are accounted for in their new barracks, you can begin."

"Very well, Captain," Serina said approvingly.

"And great work, both of you," Cutter added. After receiving nods from both Prescott and Serina, James spun on his heal and started back towards the lift lobby. _So there it is. Two more days spent in miserable conditions to rescue troops that are in worse_.

It wasn't a fair trade-off, but it was the best they could do.

* * *

Their steps more lively, the ODSTs made their way down the spire that housed the jamming equipment they so desperately needed to be rid of. Still with no physical means of transportation, they were left with marching on the hard hexagonal-patterned floor. The first few hundred meters of their journey were similar to their last few hundred meters of their exit down the previous spire. There was the generator room and the familiar arched ceilings that all spoke of uniformity.

Nathan Parker was growing tired of the scheme. _As crazy as fighting on that shield world was, at least there were trees and sky and_ . . . His thoughts trailed off when the faintest waft of air entered the inside of his helmet, carrying a different taste with it. It was fresh. Fresh as a morning mist rolling off the fields of his long-gone Harvest farm. He raised his head and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed this new anomaly.

Breaking formation, he trotted over to Bravo team's leader. "Sir, you smell that?"

"Smell what?" Sergeant Williams asked, keeping his gaze forward.

"The air. It's . . . well, it smells good. Fresh."

The sergeant finally turned his head to look at Nathan. "What?" Williams pressed the release latch on his helmet and pulled it off, revealing an oily mop of hair underneath. He raised his nose and breathed in deeply. As he inhaled, his eyes grew wide. Williams nodded but then gave Parker a frown. "Why would the air suddenly be better?"

"Sergeant," called a voice from up ahead in the formation. It was Winters.

Nathan watched Williams weaved his way forward through the soldiers to arrive next to Corporal Winters. While he couldn't hear what they said, Nathan could see Winters point in two different directions, left and right. Williams then held up a fist and the entire group of ODSTs stopped and took up defensive positions as best they could.

Nathan returned to his place on the left flank and resisted the urge to remove his helmet. He knew his own stench was pretty pungent, but the fact that he picked up on the change in air before most made him feel better off than his companions- as far as hygiene went. He glanced over at Toril Holmen and was a little shocked to see some of her long blond locks had come loose under her helmet and were draping over her armored back. _I guess the short rest we had didn't do much_. He looked around at the other ODSTs and found a similar pattern. For every haggard-looking soldier there was a stiff-backed, focused one to contrast. Nathan wasn't sure where he fit into that graph, but he hoped they could all get one good night's sleep before tackling whatever security measures were at the end of the spire.

"Bravo squad. Parker, Holmen, on me," Williams called out.

The clattering of boots and the rustle of hardened fabric on armored plates lasted for only a few seconds as the two soldiers joined the sergeant at the front of the formation. Nathan was the last to join them and gave a nod to Williams.

"Recon the area up ahead." Williams pointed down the corridor where it branched off in two different directions. "Winters and Palmer will take the left, you two take the right."

"Copy," they both said simultaneously and moved on in Winters and Palmer's wake. The other two ODSTs had already started down the left hall, so Nathan and Toril lengthened their strides to head down the right hall.

Without comment they turned the corner and came to an oddly lit anteroom. Pulsing green lights jutting out from the tips of numerous, meter-long poles on the walls and ceiling made Nathan on edge. The glaring haze was enough to limit their sight to only a handful of meters. The scent in the air become more clear to Nathan and he almost came to a stop when he recognized something peculiar about it.

Toril noticed his faltering step and looked over to him. "Something wrong?"

Tugging at the collar where his helmet met his armor, Nathan frowned. "It smells like . . . the ocean."

"I wouldn't know," Toril murmured and started forward again.

As they walked, the lights winked out one by one and the poles retracted like a hundred swords being sheathed. And with each step of diminishing green light, the end of the anteroom became more clear. At first Nathan thought he was hallucinating everything, but when the last of the glaring lights pulled back, there was no mistaking what was before them. The rectangular doorway framed at what first appeared to be an enormous static holo-image of some undisturbed valley back on Earth, but the gentle breeze rolling into the hallway was as real as it got.

Nathan heard Toril gasp. "What . . . how is this possible?" she breathed, taking a cautious step forward.

Keeping stride with her, Nathan walked up to the opened doorway and stepped into a full-fledged eco-system. It seemed to go on for hundreds of meters in every direction and swooping hills and streams traveled down the endless corridor of green grass, gray rocky outcroppings, and blue sky. Nathan couldn't see the source of such daylight-like glow, but it resembled what one would experience as the day was breaking. There was even dew on the shorter grass at his feet.

Of all the marching they had done to get to the central base of the station, Nathan felt like shedding his gear and armor and running off down the hill just to feel the freshness of the day hit his face.

"It's beautiful," Toril whispered in amazement.

All Nathan could do was nod and take in the serenity of the moment. The gentle rippling of the stream. The way the tall grass of the fields down in the valley swayed in the artificial wind. The sparsely clouded sky with its deep blue color. "It is," he finally answered. Nathan glance over at Toril and found her looking at him.

The confrontation the two had in the belly of the Covenant cruiser flashed before his eyes and he felt the guilt begin to eat at his conscience. In his mind he had rehearsed his apologies to her a hundred times and yet in this perfect moment he forgot them all. Instead, he went with his gut.

"Toril, I'm so sorry for the way I acted earlier." Even when he saw her take a breath to respond, he took a step closer. "I had no right to accuse you of anything and I wanted to apologize." His words all came out in a rush and his shoulders dipped to show her how truly distraught he was.

Toril was a long time in responding, but when she did, she sighed and let her gaze drift downward. "I'm sorry too," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's no way you could have known what I went through on Arcadia. I think . . . I think I was getting a little too comfortable with the Spartans _and _you."

Nathan felt his heartbeat begin to pound in his ears as the softness of her reply poured into his soul, flooding it with warmth.

Toril lifted her head back up. "You get to know a lot about someone when you've seen them on the battlefield. You're a good soldier, Parker." She tilted her head ever so slightly toward him. "And a good friend."

As much as he wanted to reach out and embrace her, he exhaled slowly and nodded. "Thanks." He switched his weapon to his left hand and extended his right hand. "So . . . friends?" He drew out that last word, inviting her to agree or not.

But against every possible response Nathan was expecting from her, Toril laughed and placed her left hand in his. "Yeah." She turned to look out at the rolling hills and the increasing faux daylight.

Emotions were swirling about in Nathan's mind, but what he chose to focus on was not the physical intimacy he so desperately wanted with Toril. He joined her in watching the eco-system wake up from it's artificial slumber and chose to settle on the calming wave of happiness that filled his veins with a tingling sensation. He gave her hand a squeeze and found the same reaction from her. _Happiness_.

"Hey!" a voice called from high up.

Nathan let go of Toril's hand and snapped his head up to see Winters and Palmer standing on a stone balcony that jutted out from the glossy gray wall. He exchanged waves with Winters and the two high-altitude soldiers disappeared from sight. Nathan shook his head and hooked a thumb over his left shoulder. Feeling a little cheated that their moment was gone, he sighed. "Looks like this is the only way to go," he commented to Toril, his mind revving back up to their current circumstances. "Better go tell Williams."

She nodded approvingly and they jogged back to the rest of the ODSTs with the other two-man team joining them half way.

Nathan wondered if Winters and Palmer had been spying on them, but quickly dismissed the idea.

"Dead end?" Toril asked Palmer.

"Yeah, but the view was something up there," he answered with a snort to bookend the comment.

Pursing his lips at the remark, Nathan forced an under-the-breath growl back down.

The four solders came to a halt in front of Williams and relayed what they found. After conferring with Miller, the two sergeants agreed that they had no choice but to push through the oddly-placed landscape.

"Let's just hope there's no big drop off awaiting us," Miller murmured in typical antagonistic fashion.

Feeling more that completely whole, Nathan, along with Toril, led the ODSTs into the quiet vista they had just left.

"Everyone recalibrate their waypoint," Williams ordered from just inside the eco-system. "Looks like we've got a bit of hiking to do."

Nathan nodded and complied with his commander, only to find his waypoint to the source of the jamming signal to be dead ahead. They were in the home stretch but now in completely foreign territory. Anyone could only guess what kinds of dangers lurked farther down the spire, but it was something they had to do. And Nathan, for one, now had a new sense of rightness to his life.

He looked over to Toril and she gave him a curt nod.

Even after the team started down the hillside, he wasn't able to wipe the smile off his face.


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's note:_

_*Please advise* there is some adult subject matter in the next few parts._

_while i believe it's not graphic enough to classify it as "Mature", it is still sexual in nature._

_if you find it to be inappropriate, i'll either change a few paragraphs or raise the Rating to "M"._

_and hopefully i won't embarrass myself too much . . . ._

_

* * *

_

Chapter 18

Deep in the bowels of the _Spirit of Fire_, the forward-most galley on the lower decks was sparsely populated. Aside from a few standing officers conversing near the galley's entrance, Ellen and Jerome found themselves alone with their partially flash-heated meals. Only a few emergency glowpanels illuminated the corner table, and Jerome wasn't able to completely make out the steaming pile of grub on his tray.

A rogue fork belonging to Ellen Anders poked at a rounded mass in the center of his food. "This is actually tolerable," she said quietly, rolling the object over on its side and exposing the crystallized frozen end. "You see? As long as you don't eat the uncooked parts, you'll still get your UNSC-required daily caloric intake."

Jerome let out a chuckle and pinned her fork to his tray with his own utensil. "Yes, and if you keep nibbling at my food there will be nothing left for me."

Ellen pulled her left hand out of her heavy coat sleeve and clamped down on Jerome's fork-holding hand. It was ice-cold to the touch and he yelped in protest. Taken aback by this tactic, Ellen was able to pry a portion of the round mass off and stuff it into her mouth before Jerome had even gotten his free hand out of his own pocket. As she chewed and made exaggerated "ah" sounds, she poked the fork in Jerome's direction. "You know, you might be losing your combat edge if a little lady like me can swipe your meal out from under your nose."

He pried her hand off of his and blew a deep breath into his cupped hands to bring back some of the warmth. "Then if the Covies start sending out their females with freezing cold paws, I'll put in a request for Compassionate Dispensation," he said with a muffled tone.

Ellen let out a laugh and returned her hand to her coat pocket.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jerome noticed one of the officers look over at them. The man's expression turned sour and he led the group out and down the main corridor. Jerome let out a sigh that spewed out a cloud of visible breath between him and Anders. "It's bad enough the galley's flash can only operate at a tenth of the power, but with the temperature falling . . ."

Ellen narrowed her eyes and smiled playfully. "It's your fault for hanging out with me down here. You can easily go back to your warm cozy quarters on the mid-level decks." She twirled her fork through a batch of hardened noodles and gave up when her entire tray moved with her twist.

Jerome smiled as he watched her. Since the previous day when Captain Cutter had issued the new bunking orders, he and Anders had spent a lot of their free time talking in the mess hall near the bridge, hoping the upper level officers wouldn't mind seeing the pair in a less crowded area. But the more comfortable they became with one another, the more secluded they wanted to be. This wasn't a problem for either of them, but sentiments in Jerome's thoughts began to call out to him to take it slow.

There was no doubt in his mind that if he let the present circumstances of companionship with Anders go down the slippery slope their emotions were teetering on, they would inevitably sleep together. At first thought, it wouldn't be a bad thing at all. He wanted it and he was certain Ellen did as well. _What could be better than two consenting adults?_

But there was a growing complain coming from his conscience that was trying to tell him the consequences of how it would effect his relationships with Alice and Douglas. Of how it would distract him on the battlefield when the time came to pick up arms. All of these thoughts swirled together in a cacophony of rooftop-shouting dos and don'ts.

He just wasn't in the mood to listen.

The fact that he was able to quell his libido down in the Professor's lab was a miracle in and of itself. But after later talking through the incident with her, he had never felt more comfortable with anyone of the opposite sex.

Relationship building was new to him; with fellow Spartans, things just clicked. Jerome had trained with the best Humanity had to offer in the SPARTAN program, but nothing in the countless field manuals and simulations had talked about love. _If that's even what this is_, Jerome thought. He knew the fact that Ellen was almost seven years older than him would have been an issue for some, but it didn't matter to Jerome. Things just felt better with her, and it was different than the kinship he had with his Red Team members.

Ellen looked up from her tray and gave him a full smile. "What?"

"Nothing," Jerome said distractedly, as he pushed his worthless tray off to the side. He placed his elbows on the table and gathered his hands together, examining the cracks in his dry skin. "I like you, Ellen."

He heard her drop her fork and slide her tray out of the way. "Now that's rich, Romeo."

"Who?"

"Romeo. As in _Romeo and Juliet_?" She lowered her head down to catch his gaze. "You really missed out on a lot of culture growing up, didn't you?"

Jerome cracked a smile. "Some of us did. Others enjoyed that kind of stuff during their downtime." He raised his eyebrows. "There's not much time for anything else when the bullets start flying."

"Sorry," Ellen apologized. "Seeing you without armor sometimes makes me forget what you do for a living," she said quietly, as if her voice was coming from across the room.

"Yeah, well there's still two Spartans from Red Team in MJOLNIR."

Ellen reached out and placed her warm hand over his fingers. "Hey, we'll be there for them soon. Probably by tomorrow night, if Serina pushes it."

"I know." Jerome looked up into her big brown eyes and felt an emotional warmth pouring from her. It still struck him as odd that before he got to know her, Ellen was a one dimensional, cute-faced professor that had the Captain's ear in almost every major decision. But now, she was a personal, emotionally-sound woman that exuded good company. She was indeed beautiful. Without even thinking he pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed her smooth skin.

Ellen gave a quick raise of the eyebrows in her typical humorous fashion. Her humor was something else Jerome found attractive, but he had never seen it displayed for others. It was almost like a private dialect between the two.

Jerome got up from the table and took both of their trays over to the washroom window. When he returned to the corner table, Ellen was already standing. "So what's the Captain having you do today?" he asked.

She rubbed her hands together. "Well, Serina's working on the secondary packets the Monitor transmitted to my datapad. I won't be able to analyze any of it till she properly translates the code." Ellen's gaze drifted upward, a sign of her doing mental calculations. "If I could make an educated guess, I'd say I won't be needed till the morning."

"Gotcha."

"You?"

"Cutter's holding a meeting tomorrow at 1100 hours. Until then . . ." Jerome led them out of the dim galley and into the chilly, empty corridor. "Cutter wasn't kidding about how cold it would get." As they started for the lift lobby, he looked over at Ellen who had pulled up her hood to contain the heat steaming off her head. "Where did the quartermaster stick you?"

With her hands in her pockets she looked up at him, lowered her shoulder, and pushed it into his side. "I do what I want, mister."

Jerome winced when she made impact with his ribs, but he curled his left arm around Ellen to lock her in place. She fit perfectly under his embrace, enough so that she wrapped her right arm around his torso. The mutual physical contact released endorphins in Jerome's head as his body was biologically making his mind up for him on how to proceed. "So where are you staying tonight?" he asked, trying to sound conversational.

"Some place warm," Ellen commented disinterestedly.

They reached the lift lobby and Jerome frowned. "Are these things even working now?" he asked, as he waved his right hand to the row of passenger lifts.

"Minimal power," Ellen said, detaching herself from him. She walked to the nearest lift and the door opened slowly. She entered the compartment and shrugged her shoulders. "Going down?"

Jerome blushed, wondering if the innuendo was purposely implied, but he quickly recovered and noted the distance between them. There was the choice for him: he could follow the Professor into a night of passion, or try to focus on the upcoming mission at hand. The former would satisfy his multi-faceted urgings, and the consequences would be few and far between- he told himself. The latter would mean a sharp mind for the battle and rescue op he undoubtedly would lead . . . _But won't I just be thinking about Ellen?_

He looked up at her bundled form, all warm and inviting. She wore a sly smile but her eyebrows were beginning to meet one another, detecting his uncertainty.

_To hell with it!_

Jerome marched into the lift compartment and Ellen keyed the door shut.

* * *

As the lift descended, Ellen felt her heart beating inside her chest. From the left edge of her peripheral vision she saw Jerome returning the same look of hesitation. They both knew what would eventually happen but didn't really know how to gently break down the inadvertent boundaries one automatically sets up when intimacy is present. Ellen tried to be all smiles, all articulate and graceful, but this moment was so different than what she thought it would be.

She was nervous. And Ellen was pretty sure Jerome was as well. It was like she was a teenager again. Only this time a "first kiss" would lead to pleasures previously unknown. Wrapped up in her career and books and datapads and research sites had all postponed a relationship. She wasn't even sure if this was the fabled "true love" or not, but it just felt . . . right.

Going by what she knew to be true had been her mantra from day one, never really letting her emotions cloud her judgement. _But this with Jerome . . . where's there a need for logic at all?_

Ellen reached out and took his right hand in both of hers. When he smiled back at her she leaned her head against his shoulder. In return, Jerome leaned his head on the top of hers. In the simple gesture, Ellen knew whatever happened would be mutual. _So what if this is one of those "tomorrow we might die, so let's sleep together tonight" cliches? _At this point, she figured it was just coincidence. Or else, she didn't care.

When the lift doors parted Ellen pulled Jerome to the entrance to her lab on the Observation Deck. But he paused just outside the door and Ellen looked up at his frowning face. "What's wrong?"

"Is there heat coming from your lab?" he asked, pressing his free hand against the door.

Smiling, Ellen keyed the door open, backpedaled into the warm, dimly-lit room, and continued pulling Jerome with her. "I convinced the Captain to keep the Observation Deck with full power resources." She closed and sealed the door behind him. "I told him I needed access to my computers down here in order to fully sift through the alien data we've obtained."

"Makes sense," Jerome commented, taking off his coat. "Though it still seems a _little _chilly in here."

Ellen likewise took off her outer layer and took Jerome's coat for him. "There's still some heat loss from the surrounding bulkheads, but it beats being bunked with a random female marine." She threw their coats on a nearby chair and suppressed a shiver at removing her thickest layer of warmth. "You still hungry?"

Jerome cracked a smile. "I think I lost my appetite. No, I'll be fine, thanks."

"Okay." Ellen looked away from his handsome face and tried to find something else to offer him that could help make him- _them_- feel more comfortable. She spied her kitchenette in shambles along the far wall but pointed to it anyway. "I could make some coffee, if you'd like."

His smile grew when Ellen thought he noticed the sudden awkwardness of the moment she was trying to overcome. "Sure." He raised an eyebrow. "Would you mind if we listened to that Icelandic composer again? I liked it."

Ellen matched his expression and fished her remote from inside her lab coat that was hanging over her desk chair. She applied the settings to the audio console and warm melodies began to fill the room. She walked over to the kitchenette and began searching for the coffee packets hiding in the overhead cabinets. "Which do you prefer: Regular or Decaf?" she called out over her shoulder, not even knowing if she had any of the latter.

"Regular is fine," Jerome answered softly, his voice sounding much closer than the spot where she had left him.

"Well, we're in luck," Ellen announced, pulling out the last shiny packet of coffee grounds. She quickly filled the reservoir with water and started the brewing process.

But before she could turn around, Jerome's hands clasped around her sides and moved to gather over her abdomen. He set his head down on her right shoulder and gave her a single kiss on her cheek. Ellen felt the chill in her bones evaporate in an instant and she placed her hands over his. At first she was taken aback by Jerome's aggressiveness, but the emotional and physical warmth radiating off of him was enough to make her feel right at home in his arms.

He landed another peck on her cheek and Ellen tilted her head to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. She closed her eyes to fully take in the sensations her sight couldn't achieve. His scent was that of his aftershave he had started wearing ever since the two had become friends. While his lips were soft on hers, his barely detectable, fast-growing facial hair tickled her bottom lip. Ellen could taste the saltiness of his skin as her upper lip met his. The only sound she could hear was the soft, graceful notes from a trio of violins in melodious harmony.

It was a perfect moment.

Jerome slowly pulled his head back and their mouths announced the end of their kiss with a light _smack_. Ellen opened her eyes hesitantly, not wanting the moment to end. But when she found Jerome's face a hand's breadth away from hers, he was looking into her eyes with the longing of a lover once departed.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered, studying her face intently.

She lifted her right hand up and around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Only this time it was more fierce. Their mouths now opened and their lips met with a passion neither had previously displayed but were so badly wanting to.

He pulled her closer than Ellen thought possible and she felt his body against hers. She spun around and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him again. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, they held each other in an embrace. While his touch was firm, there was a gentleness that she wasn't expecting from such a hardened soldier.

She started to unfasten his civilian-cut shirt, exposing his perfectly trim physique. With each fastener unsnapped, she planted another kiss on his face. When she finished with his shirt, he lowered his powerful arms and Ellen pulled it off. She placed her hands on his partially hairy chest and pushed them upward to gather around Jerome's neck. Ellen quickly hopped up off the ground, wrapped her legs around his torso, and Jerome caught her with ease.

As he backpedaled they continued to lock lips. Ellen felt the burning in her loins, as Jerome tucked his head down to kiss her neck. They were both breathing heavily and Ellen knew it would only get more intense from there on out.

Jerome finally stopped his backward steps and dropped to one knee to sit Ellen down on his raised one. They both looked over at the small cot and came to the same inadequate conclusion. Instead, Ellen reached over his shoulder and grabbed the thick blanket from off the end of the cot. He smiled at her and lifted her up again.

Weaving a path through the various equipment racks and datacard piles, he took them to the center of the room where Ellen tossed the blanket to the transparent floor. Once again, Jerome got down on one knee, but this time he lowered her slowly to the soft green fabric. He cradled her head to rest on the blanket and kissed her again.

They started out slow, letting the time bleed into an eternity of wordless action, but more so to pace themselves. All of it was truly wondrous to Ellen and she didn't want it to end. It was pure excitement wrapped in the most basic of urges. It truly was the best rush she had ever experienced.

With each passing second, endorphins released in her brain as Ellen fully took in the passionate moment. Their bodies entwined, their emotions ran headlong into the pleasure both were giving and receiving simultaneously. Jerome lifted her up and swapped places with her to place Ellen on top. The effect was dramatic enough that Ellen couldn't help but cry out. It was by chance that they both felt the moment hit at the same time and their bodies clenched in unbridled passion.

Ellen opened her eyes and tried to catch her breath. Jerome was smiling up at her, his brow covered in sweat. She sighed a laugh and bent down to kiss him again. Dismounting, she laid down beside him and rested her head on his chest as it rose and fell with each deep breath he took.

Feeling physically exhausted was the great connector to feeling completely happy. Ellen had never experienced such a passionate, intimate moment with another before, and she was thoroughly convinced that she had needed this immense release to clear her mind.

Jerome pulled the blanket up and over to cover both of their naked bodies. He wrapped his right arm around her and ran his fingers through the hair on top of her head.

_Peace_. The word bounced around in Ellen's head till she was certain it would never leave her waking thoughts. Peace was what she was experiencing. No war, no conflict, no battles, no arguments . . . no loneliness. It was something she could get used to.

A chime rang out and she lifted her head. "What was that?"

Jerome kissed the top of her head and laughed. "Coffee's done."

She laughed and squeezed her arms around him.

* * *

Spartan 130 readjusted her grip on her MA5B and stepped onto the lift platform with Spartan 042. Douglas keyed the small control panel and they ascended quietly and smoothly. Alice worked her neck from side to side and shook off the tiredness in her limps. "I was beginning to think this station didn't have any lifts at all."

"Maybe it's only certain spires that do," Douglas suggested, looking upward. "But this should put us on the same deck-level the security alert pinpointed."

"About time," Alice muttered. To her it seemed too much time had already passed for the two Spartans to be of any help to the ODSTs. But the holographic image of the alarm was still flashing on her heads-up-display, so _something _was still going on up there.

When the lift came to a stop at its apex, Douglas and Alice disembarked and moved into the small hallway connected to the lift's ramped edge. The hall jogged to the left for a good dozen meters before ending in a sealed door with a single alien glyph etched into it. Douglas raised his hand over the release panel and the door opened up into a completely white anteroom.

Alice noticed the displacement of air and looked over at Douglas. "Negative pressure."

"This could be a medical lab or something." Jerome tilted his head in thought. "But why would the ODSTs head here?"

"Maybe they had no choice?" Alice offered, mentally recalling their debacle with the Monitor.

Douglas nodded. "Let's double-time it."

They ran down to the other end of the room to exit an opened doorway into a short hall. They met a sharp right turn that dumped them out into a T-junction. To their left was more of the same white decor, but straight ahead was what resembled the inner workings of a mining facility, all pipes and industrial-grade facets. But there was a watery blue force-field blocking the latter way and it brought the Spartans to a sudden stop.

"Great," Douglas growled, looking around for an interface panel of any sort but finding none.

Alice frowned and reached out to touch the surface of the field. "It's like water," she commented, running her gloved fingers along the liquid-like surface. But when she lifted her hand away, the blue ripples expanded and opened up large enough to permit her to pass through. Not even delaying to gawk at the fortunate turn of events, they pressed on through to the next portion of the new corridor.

Alice checked her motion tracker but found nothing moving within fifteen meters. Keeping pace with Douglas, she marched on ahead with weapon raised. The corridor was lined with glass prison cells containing remains of dead bodies they couldn't identify. While it was shocking, the discovery wasn't important to their mission parameters. "They're too badly decayed to be our guys, Doug. Let's keep moving." She catalogued the finding for a later time.

They turned the corner where the corridor ended and broke off into a lobby with two symmetrical staircases to the left and a single oval-shaped lift housed in the middle. Two rows of pedestals, half of them displaying murky liquid and shadowy forms, formed a pathway that connected the base of the stairs to a heavy door.

But everything else that was contained in the open space spoke of chaos and battle. Scorch marks covered every type of surface, running up walls and crisscrossing on the floor. The nearest row of cylinders had been smashed into one another in a domino effect, and the nasty-looking liquid pooled at each pedestal's base. A few crumpled metallic chassis were strewn about, but their design looked very familiar to Alice. "Sentinels."

"Just like the ones on that shield world," Douglas commented, squatting down beside one's remains. "Close enough, at least."

"So our troopers put up a fight," Alice concluded, as she scanned the area for any signs of threat.

"A _hell _of a fight." Douglas stood back up and took in the chamber with a wave of his hand. "Notice how there's no human casualties?"

Alice frowned as she looked out at the destruction. A few Sentinel remains were still smoldering but she couldn't find any human corpse. She noticed the bulk of the linear scorch marks was at the base of the steps. _A defensive position_. Alice looked over to Douglas and motioned with her head to the dual stairwell. "Going up?"

The two Spartans made their way to the base of the steps and Douglas chose the left stairwell. "More burns along the wall here. The majority of them went this way."

Alice nodded and kept her assault rifle raised in firing position.

The next level up was an open chamber complete with a balcony framed by tilted glass that surrounded the empty space on all four sides. Several rectangular sections of the hazy glass floor were raised to form what resembled to be observation cases one found in a biology lab. Most of the cases had been broken in the ensuing firefight, warped metal twisted by the heat of the weapons' projectiles. More scorch marks and burn patterns littered the place.

Beside her, Douglas growled. "No bodies here either."

Frowning, she looked down around her. "No bullet casings or empty clips." She looked up to Douglas who in turn just shook his head in an unsure manner.

He walked over to the nearest glass case and leaned over to inspect it. "What do think was in these?"

Alice shrugged uncomfortably, feeling a tingling up her spine. "Probably whatever was in the cylinders on the lower level." She took a step toward him but paused in mid stride when the faintest sound reached her armor's audio sensors. It was the muffled sound of a distant explosion.

Douglas' head snapped to look at her and he pointed to the small door at the far end of the room. The two Spartans weaved a path around the ruptured glass enclosures and as soon as they were within 15 meters of the door, Alice's motion tracker lit up with multiple yellow dots- her armor's means of classifying an unknown object.

"Contacts," she bit out between huffing breaths. They came to a sudden stop and pressed their backs against the door frame, Alice to the left and Douglas to the right. By now the muffled racket of battle could easily be heard and they couldn't waste any more time. Alice held up three fingers and counted them down.

When she made a fist, Douglas keyed the door open and both Spartans swung around to bear their weapons down on the half dozen floating Sentinels firing off to the right, down a lengthy hallway. Presenting the pair of super soldiers with two-meter wide profiles made for easy targets, and Alice fired three short bursts into the nearest Sentinel that quickly brought the machine down in a fiery explosion.

Douglas swept his SMG fire across three different targets, quickly bring their shields down, and finished them off with a pair of M6 pistol rounds to their triangular heads. The last two Sentinels finally oriented themselves to the newest, most immediate threat, but Alice had reloaded and finished them off before they could return fire.

"Clear," Douglas announced and stepped into the long hallway. The vaulted ceiling reached upward several levels and formed a sharp angle at it's apex. Glowpanels at the floor cast the entire corridor in a soft blue glow.

Alice stepped over the machine rubble and checked the left side of the hall only to find a solid wall with a small hatchway two dozen meters up its face. "Clear over here," she said, spinning back around. At the other end of the hallway, nearly 40 meters away where it opened up into another room, was a pile of bodies, unmoving in the smoke of burnt flesh. Alice felt her heart turn to ice and fall into her stomach. "We're too late," she breathed.

After taking a few steps toward the mangled forms, Douglas froze in place. He was still as stone.

Alice could feel for him. They both knew their chances of getting to the ODSTs in time were slim, but to be this close and fail was something they had not anticipated. She came along side him and shook her head. But an echoing grunt from the room that connected off of the hallway came to disrupt her thoughts of remorse. "C'mon. Maybe there's more still alive."

With no time to question the source of the noise, they started forward. When they came to the smoldering pile of flesh, Douglas skidded to a halt and Alice nearly bounced off his left shoulder.

"Doug, let's go," Alice implored, giving a cursory glance at the seared bodies. But felt her stomach turn when she got a first real look at the pile. "Oh no."

Douglas' own reply was to reload his M6.

Alice bent down to one knee and picked up a charred, discarded Plasma Pistol. "Covies." She tossed the weapon to the side and flipped over the torso of a burnt corpse. While its armor had mostly melted into flesh and bone to mask its xenology, there's was no question what the poor soul once held as a body. "Grunts _and _Elites."

"I guess the Monitor didn't vent all of them off the cruiser after all." Douglas kicked at the putrid pile and found what he was looking for. He scooped up an Elite's Energy Sword and ignited it, the _snap-hiss_ echoing down the hall. Another grunt reverberated from the room just a few meters away and Douglas extinguished the sword. "We better go."

Alice slowly stood, keeping her eyes forward on the opened doorway into the dark room. "So there never were any ODSTs here," she bit out with a bitter taste in her mouth. "It was the Covies that set off the alarms."

"They were not the only ones," Douglas added, lifting his SMG and pointing its barrel at the shadowy figures now assembling themselves in the doorway. "Incoming."

Alice raised her rifle and took aim at the newcomers. Recognition flashed in her mind as she instantly recalled the gangly, tentacled bipeds now creeping towards her. The _Spirit of Fire_'s clash with the infectious beasts back on the alien shield world seemed a lifetime ago, and yet the threat was right in front of her. Alice's improved heads-up-display bracketed them in blood red and pulsed incessantly.

When four of them had cleared the doorway, standing shoulder to shoulder, they halted and the ground at their feet began to crawl. Smaller, bulbous squid head-like creatures poured into the hallway, too numerous to count. Alice didn't waste any time and opened fire, spraying her rounds back and forth over the wave of enemies. Likewise, Douglas fired from the hip with his SMG while aiming his pistol at the taller, stoic forms. As if the sudden M6 rounds piercing through pale brown flesh was finally a reason to enter the fight, the tentacled bipeds leaped forward.

Instinctively Alice took a few cautious steps backward, trying to keep the advantage a range weapon wielded. But the parasites jumped with amazing strength and landed a mere meter in front of her. As Alice reached for her fully loaded pistol, she knew it was too late.

"Get back!" With blinding speed, Douglas pulled the Energy Sword from the holder on his hip, ignited the blade, and slashed through the three nearest crouching infections.

The last alien form launched a slimy tentacle at Alice and it wrapped around her left forearm. Her augmented muscles contracted at the elbow and she pulled the disgusting figure toward her. Letting go of her MA5B, she landed a forceful punch with her right hand that ripped straight through the infection's decaying chest cavity. The form immediately slacked and wilted to the ground in a heap, leaving Alice's arms covered in brown goop.

Beside her, Douglas swung the Energy Sword along the ground, mincing the half dozen bulbous forms crawling toward them. In several swift motions, Alice bent down, pulled out a fresh ammo clip, picked up her rifle and reloaded it. When it came to combat, nothing could match two fully-focused Spartans- except maybe _three_ fully-focused Spartans. Alice cleared the last of the smaller creatures with two long bursts while Douglas ran his blade through a twitching biped form sprawled out at their feet.

"Clear, for now, " Alice huffed.

Douglas deactivated the blade and rumbled a curse. "This was a complete waste of time." He shook his head and kicked an Elite carcass for good measure. "We should have gone straight to the cruiser, Alice."

She wordlessly nodded. Bile burned in her throat as she realized it was equally both their faults. In all the madness of being dragged every which way by Contrite Variant, they had easily mistaken the cause of the alarms to be their fellow UNSC soldiers. _Granted, the Monitor prompted a lot those conclusions_. "Well, there's no sense in lingering."

"Yeah," Douglas muttered. As he reloaded his SMG, he took several steps forward to look into the adjacent room. "Holy sh-"

An audible beep and a flash of red on her HUD cut off his swear, as every overlaying line that framed the walls, doorway, and ceiling started flashing in tandem. She narrowed her eyes and peered through the doorway Douglas had just pulled back from. There was a sea of red-bracketed forms swarming toward them. A _flood_. "Holy sh-"

"Come on!" Douglas belted out, sprint past her, back the way they had come.

Alice spun on her heel and quickly caught up with him. A blur of motion at the top of her periphery caused her to tilt her head up as she ran. The small hatch on the upper portion of the wall was open and out poured four more Sentinels. "Just ignore them!" she called out, hoping the machines would avoid the Spartans for lack of participation in the engagement.

Douglas growled but holstered his bladed weapon and increased his speed. Alice could understand his frustration. When the _Spirit of Fire_ had traversed through the crust-layer of the shield world, Sergeant Forge and the Spartans had stayed out on the hull to fend off both Sentinels and the infection forms. Douglas had taken a blast to the right thigh from on of those floating machines and it nearly pierced his armor. _And seeing as how the Monitor was so closely linked to the Sentinels, it's no wonder Doug couldn't stand Contrite Variant_.

When the pack of Sentinels swooped down, the two Spartans tucked and leaped forward, diving below the firing beams of energy. When Douglas and Alice got back to their feet, they were at the exit. Alice risked one last glance down the hallway and shuddered at the sight. The Sentinels had no chance at the multitude of enemies who were now taking up the leftover plasma weapons from the smoldering pile of Covenant. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder pull her through the doorway and Douglas keyed the door shut.

In turn, Alice rammed the butt-end of her MA5B down on the simple control panel and it gave an electrical buzz as the door locked in place. "Don't know how long that will hold 'em."

They took off down the chamber, weaving through the shattered glass containers, and Alice frowned. "I bet every one of these cases had those squid things in them."

"And you notice how the Sentinels didn't fire at us until we thinned their number?" They reached the far end of the room and the door opened automatically for them. Douglas continued as they headed back towards the original lift they came up on. "My bet is that the Covies figured those slimy creatures could slow the Sentinels down long enough for them to escape."

"But the Covies ended up just going deeper into the installation."

They flew down the cell block-style corridor and soon encountered the energy wall. But like the doors behind them, it parted and they went straight through the arched opening.

The pulsing outline on her HUD was still going, but now a row of unfamiliar symbols lined the bottom of her view next to her motion tracker. "Uh, Doug?"

"I see it." He slowed down as they navigated through the line of rooms and closed doors. "What do you think it is?"

Keeping most of her attention on the path in front of her, Alice gave another quick glance at the symbols.

One of them vanished. "It's a countdown," she breathed.

"Countdown to what?" Douglas asked with gravel in his voice.

She reached her arm out and slowed Douglas down even more. "Can you figure out if we can access the map of this installation as an overview of the entire thing?" Fear started to creep it's way into her heart with each second that passed.

"Uh, yeah," he replied anxiously. He brought his left hand up to touch the side of his helmet and tilted his head down, trying to access his armor's visual settings. "There, you should see what I see."

An image superimposed itself on her visor and the installation took shape. The base was a solid blue while the spires branching up and down were in yellow. But a single spire, the one they were currently on, was pulsing red. At the joint where the spire met the base of the installation was a honeycomb-like ring that flickered with the same string of symbols floating beside it. She gasped when the realization hit her, but Douglas spoke her own thoughts out loud.

"I think it's not too far of a stretch to say that that ring of hexagons is a failsafe device," Douglas offered. "Something goes wrong on a spire and _boom_, the rest of the station is saved."

"I agree." Alice knew the fastest way back had to have been the way they had come, but didn't know if they could make it in time. "We better hurry."

Douglas switched their heads-up-displays back to the flickering outline mode and he inhaled sharply. "Did you see that blip?"

"What?" Alice asked, starting for the last sealed door before the lift.

"I thought I saw a red contact on my motion tracker," he said, shaking his head.

"Maybe a Covie made it out?"

"He's on his own, now."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Deactivating his cloaking device, Bren breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He was fortunate enough to hear the two Demons well before they could have spotted him. Whenever they ran their armor clanked an unholy cadence, especially on a hardened surface.

When Bren had arrived at the previous battle scene on the first _Quarantine Zone_ level, he only had a few seconds to examine the engagement zone before hearing trodden footsteps. He had quickly activated his armor's cloaking device and sunk back into the shadows at the far end of the room. Even in his pained condition, he knew he might be able to bring down one Demon but not two. He had no idea why they would come to this forsaken portion of the Relic, but Demons had a tendency to find trouble wherever it resided.

As the two Human super soldiers entered the room they conversed briefly before continuing up the stairs. Bren frowned and considered his options. He could go up after them, lurking in their wake to eventually find out what happened to the rest of his troopers, or he could make a break for it and head back to the waiting Phantom. _If it's still there_. Honor dictated the former, but the immediacy of the moment leaned him toward the latter.

Realizing that matched against the Sentinels and two Demons would spell certain doom for him, Bren shook his head and started for the way back out. When he reached the watery, blue energy field he raised his left forearm and the passive device clipped to his data-bracer parted an opening for him to pass through.

As he stepped into the T-junction the glowpanels framing the walls flickered briefly before beginning to pulse a light red hue. They quickly shaded back to their original blue, but not before a feeling of dread encased around Bren's thoughts. He didn't know what the true meaning behind the lighted message was, but it was a universal notion that "red" generally meant something bad.

And to compound the problem, his cloaking device abruptly cut off, leaving him with a crackling hiss in his ears. He cursed the stubborn technology and shut off the malfunctioning device. He was no longer invisible to the Demons; he needed to get moving.

With the pain in his back increasing with each step, he hobbled along the familiar arched hallways at half his normal pace, hoping that the Demons wouldn't catch wind of the caution the station had just alerted him of. Every hallway he turned down he felt would be his last, as his memory failed him on how many turns it would take to lead him back to the hangar.

As he hurried on, the glowpanels lining the upper portions of the walls on the fifth hallway started blinked as one constant red pulse, like the heartbeat of a Human. _A final alert?_

Time was running out.

Bren worked his mandibles in worry and forced himself to hobble faster despite the agony brewing in his back.

* * *

Alice impatiently drummed her fingers against the outsides of her thighs, as the lift began to slow down towards their destination. _C'mon, c'mon_. She checked the diminishing row of symbols at the bottom of her visor once more. "Doug," she cautioned.

"I know," he murmured and returned his SMG to its magnetic strip on his armor. "Let's just hope our exit isn't sealed. It would be one thing to beat the clock only to be trapped here."

Alice nodded and felt the lift come to a completed stop. "Let's go!"

The door opened and they bolted down the short hallway into flashing red lighting. They turned down a connecting corridor and made for the far end. Alice recalled the countless layers of spiraling, right-angle ramps they had to run up just to make it to the corridor they were currently running down and she felt a glimmer of hope that they could make it out in time. "Follow my lead," she called out.

They slowed down to allow the access door to recognize their presence and it opened to reveal what Alice remembered. She gazed down at the multiple levels of ramps and the dark, empty shaft that lead down to the bottom. There were no handrails or balustrades to prevent one's fall into the abyss, but the lack of features would prove helpful to the Spartans.

The first ramp led down to a flat surface that angled off to her left. At the end of the leveled stretch, another ramped section, opposite the previous incline, angled off to the left and so on. Alice slid down the first ramp and caught herself before slamming into the wall. She then walked to the center of the flattened stretch of walkway and crouched. Gauging the distance, she leaped forward and landed on the flat walkway opposite the one she had just left. She braced herself against the wall and quickly recovered her balance.

Alice waved Douglas on and jumped down to the flat walkway below the one Douglas was currently occupying. As they leaped and landed, Alice couldn't help but feel a little silly. She recalled faint, distant memories of when she was a child doing something similar, but not quite pinpointing exactly what. The only solid childhood memories she had was from the SPARTAN program and everything and everyone that went along with it. Even as she continued jumping, she felt a tinge of sadness at the lack of fond thoughts of growing up.

It wasn't that she loathed being a Spartan- it was the completed opposite- but the rigorous training denied her of what normal kids experienced during childhood. It was something she had excepted long ago, but glimpses of a life she never knew would often flash before her. An overheard conversation from a marine about his kids back home. The curious look a child gave her when she was in her armor. Young civilian lovers walking past without a care in the galaxy.

Maybe when all of this was over, all of this fighting, she could settle down and start a family of her own. Deep down, Alice knew she was wishfully thinking. No matter how alluring a "normal" life was, she was a soldier. A Spartan.

Taking another leap, she frowned when she landed on the next walkway. _So what brought this all on? Why would I suddenly be doubting my career path? _Her eyebrows raised when Alice realized she never had a choice in the matter. It was: "become a Spartan or wash out."

Perplexed by her own thoughts, she shook her head and tried to focus on the next jump. Now wasn't the time to get all philosophical. She was trying to vacate a detonating spire on an alien installation floating above a world she had never seen before. _Later. I can talk through all of this later. Maybe with Doug and Jerome_ . . .

"Alice?"

She looked up and saw Douglas giving her a curious look. "Yeah?" she asked distractedly. "Little busy here."

Douglas' shoulders bobbed up and down as he laughed. "Turn around, dear."

Alice frowned and spun on her heal to see she had already reached the bottom floor. "Oh." Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize how much traveling she had done. In a sense, it was the story of her life. She hit the release switch and stepped through the doorway. Douglas jumped down and followed right behind her. Noting the countdown, she raised her left arm up and tapped her right index finger on her wrist.

"This is going to be close."

The hallway they marched down had large plates of glass lining the left side, giving them a terrific view of the stars. "I don't remember this hall having windows," Alice commented with a frown.

"Must have had shutters on them before." They traveled down the wide hallway and Douglas pointed to the door straight ahead. "That's the way we came in."

Alice nodded but remembered how cramped it had been in the maintenance passageways. "Should we try to find a main door?"

Douglas considered the possibility as they came to halt at the maintenance hatch. He swore out loud when he saw the flashing yellow lights around the rim of the hatch, telling both of them that the passageway was sealed. "Well, we can't get out this way."

"C'mon." Alice was already through the doorway to their right and was racing down the lengthy corridor. If she was reading her HUD map correctly, they should be able to enter the main corridor after two more turns down connecting hallways. It all felt like a maze to Alice.

Alice clenched her teeth and tried increasing her pace without completely falling forward. Her eyes darted to the bottom row of random symbols on her visor and swallowed. There were only a dozen left out of the original forty.

"Hold it!" Douglas hissed.

Alice tried to slow down, but Douglas pulled her to a stop well before the last turn into the main corridor. She looked over her shoulder at him. "What?"

"Contacts." Douglas stepped in front of her and squatted down, awkwardly working his way up to the bend in the hallway.

Alice swore to herself when she saw the briefest of blurring yellow on her motion tracker. She hunched down and crouch-walked in his wake until he peered around the corner. Oddly enough, there was no door into the huge, main corridor that ran nearly the entire length of the spire, but the doorway gave them a view good enough to spot what their radars were telling them.

Biting back another curse, Alice shook her head at the sight. Floating back and forth across the width of the main corridor were hundreds of Sentinels, patrolling the area for any sign of movement. While the cloud of machines was thick, they still kept their distance from one another to allow a chance for multiple attack angles, should a hazard reveal itself.

Douglas whispered to her. "You think they'll ignore us this time?"

Pursing her lips, Alice knew it wouldn't be the case. "They must be here as a last line of containment. We shouldn't risk it."

"Well we better risk something," Douglas urged. He tapped his visor with a finger. "I figure we've get less than five minutes."

Alice started to chew on the inside of her cheek as she tried to think. "Maybe we can backtrack a little ways and see if there's a cross-corridor. One of us lures them out while the other makes a break for it?"

"There's still no guarantee we could get that enormous door open," Douglas mentioned, pointing out the obstruction. "Wait . . . " He clasped his hands together. "If we can't go _through _the spire, we'll just have to go _around _it."

"Okay," Alice said hesitantly, but Douglas was already moving past her, back the way they had come. She followed him back to the hallway with the maintenance hatch- and the large glass windows. "You're serious," she asked, as he ran his hand along the base of the nearest window.

"I bet they open up these things to help vent the atmosphere during the spire's separation from the base of the station." Douglas craned his neck as he looked at her. "You up for a spacewalk?"

Alice started to grumble a complaint but stepped up next to him and sighed. She absolutely hated the idea. The only time Alice didn't score high marks in training was during spacewalk exercises on the orbital platforms above Reach. She became extremely anxious when faced with the possibility of floating off into the black oblivion of space. But during those training exercises she was tethered to the hull. Here, it would not be the case.

Alice sighed again. "No other options," she muttered through her teeth.

Douglas didn't take the fleeting time to ask her if she would be okay, and he bent down to the window frame and lined up his elbow. "Lock your magnetic soles."

Alice complied and nodded. "Do it."

Even with MJOLNIR strengthened blows, the glass took Douglas a half dozen hits before showing signs of cracking at the corners. Alice winced with each crash of his elbow, and tensed when the high pitch squeal of the first smallest breach was heard. She lowered herself into a crouch and took Douglas' left hand in hers.

He paused in between swings and looked up at her. "One more should do it." He raised his right arm. "Hold on!"

With a thunderous crash, the glass shattered around the Spartan's elbow and immediately vented out the meter-wide opening. The air was howling all around like an enraged pack of wild animals and Alice could feel the pull of the fleeing atmosphere. "One step at a time!" she yelled, hoping Douglas could hear her.

Douglas nodded and slowly dislodged his left foot from the floor and stepped onto the window sill. His armor found a solid, magnetic contact and he nodded again.

Alice raised her right foot hesitantly and forced herself to step in the place Douglas had just left. She gave his hand a squeeze and Douglas took his first step onto the outer hull of the station. Not only was Douglas pulling her along, but the venting air nearly pushed her completely off balance and she clung to his forearm. She stepped through the broken glass opening and immediately felt disoriented. The stars in front of her spun like a cyclone and she felt her head loll to the side. The whooshing of the atmosphere leaving was so loud she couldn't hear anything else.

A tug from Douglas' hand got her moving towards the direction of his pull and she soon found herself facing the central base of the station. As soon as she cleared the hole in the window, all outside sound was cut off like a conductor ending a symphony. She could still hear her heavy breathing but it wasn't comforting at all.

The outside hull was starship gray and meter-sized square panels layered its skin. Alice kept her eyes on each cautious step as Douglas picked up his pace. After ten panels, the surface of the hull changed abruptly and giant hexagonal tiles arose in an angular hump before them. _Blast Zone_, Alice thought. _A place that's going to blow in less than two minutes_. The honeycomb-patterned ring continued on to both her left and right sides. On her HUD, it pulsed a telling red glow.

Douglas raised his booted foot and stepped onto the first six-sided panel, but his footing faltered and he leaned backward. He swore as Alice helped stabilize him with a hand to his back. Since the comm jamming was still in place, he turned back and placed his visor up against hers to conduct the sound waves. "We can't magnetize our armor to this type of surface," came his muffled voice. "We'll have to crawl."

Alice's eyes grew wide and she felt her heart-rate increase. As Douglas pulled away and reached down to grip the raised edges of the hexagonal tiles, she prayed the pull of the installation's internal artificial gravity would help anchor them to the hull if they should slip. She swallowed and let go of Douglas' hand. Leaning forward she made sure she had a solid hold of the first tile before she disengaged her footing.

The raised edges of each tile proved to be easy to grip and Alice quickly found herself moving up and over the ring. Douglas was off to her left and they stayed within arm's reach of one another. Alice found herself crawling faster as the last few alien symbols at the bottom of her heads-up-display started flashing.

The were over the crest of the separation ring when the small gaps around each hexagonal tile started venting compressed air. Panic started to creep inside her mind and Alice nearly lost her hold. But immediately, adrenaline, mixed with her survival instinct, flooded her being and she clawed her way forward, down the back slope of the honeycomb ring.

On her HUD, the last two countdown symbols flickered and the leftmost winked out. There was only one left.

As they finally came to the bottom of the ring, the two Spartans swung their legs around to lock back onto the magnetic conductive surface. There were twenty meters of hardened panels left before the central triangular base flattened out before them.

But even as they took risky, lengthening strides, Alice knew they wouldn't be clear of the blast.

The last symbol flickered out of existence and the separation ring detonated.

* * *

Bren waved his left forearm over the hangar bay door release and the large, rumbling door opened. He couldn't shake the feeling of dread as the spire's lighting was flashing like a strobe. Once the dark gray rectangular door was low enough, Bren hurdled the top edge and pushed off to propel him forward.

And there, hovering like a predator waiting to pounce on its prey, was Bren's ride off the spire. The Phantom's running lights were a bright green, letting him know the engines were hot and ready to go. As Bren hobbled toward the rear of the Phantom, the pilot activated the gravity lift. He crossed the distance in the last few stumbling steps and was pulled upward into the belly of the dropship.

He quickly deactivated the lift and started for the cockpit. "Pilot, get us out of here!"

The Sangheili partially turned around in his seat, only saw his Ship Master, and gave Bren an abbreviated nod. He didn't need to hear a full report on why his commander was without a squad. The failure of Bren's mission was etched on his pained face.

Bren collapsed into the copilot's seat and didn't even bother strapping in. "Go!" he croaked.

The pilot flipped a few switches and the Phantom started moving forward.

Once cleared of the containment field, they shot out of the hangar bay like plasma from a fuel rod cannon. The pilot kept his course steady for a few seconds before turning the ship in a lazy arc down towards the cruiser. From the top of the cockpit viewport, they could see the spire they had just left and Bren rumbled a growl at the sight.

But the sudden appearance of tendrils of mist seeping from the ring where the spire connected with the station's base made him frown. "Slow down," he ordered, as he pointed at the distant oddity. "The installation must be breaking apart."

The pilot lifted his head and then shook it. "No, it's just that spire. All the others appear normal."

Bren opened his mouth with a reprimand behind his lips, but stopped himself when he saw that the pilot was indeed correct. "Yes," he hissed.

The pilot slowly rotated the Phantom and leveled out his course to give them a better view of the focal point on the installation. The mist finished venting and the hexagonal-patterned ring began glowing a feverish red. Then at two different vertical junctions, the panels started exploding outward. The path of both starting points chased around the ring to end at the others beginning. And with a final brilliant flash of white light, the blast sent the detached spire off on a collision course with the system's sun.

It looked thoroughly impressive to Bren, the Forerunners' design to safeguard the rest of the installation. There was barely any debris from the explosion, and after the discarded spire was out of view, the station didn't look any less for the loss. Bren frowned again when he noticed how similar the detached joint of the spire they had just vacated looked like another spot on the top of the triangular base of the station. _This is not the first time a spire had been jettisoned into the sun_.

"Ship Master?"

Bren shook his head to clear his thoughts. There was no point in staying here. It was time for them to leave. "Take us back to _Unwavering Fortitude_. We need to get back to the Fleet." He finally snapped his restraints around his torso. ". . . and tell the Council of this atrocity."

* * *

Alice felt the heat on her back as the explosion washed over her. She had been in mid stride when the ring finally erupted, and Douglas tried his best to step behind her and act as a shield. The blast had shoved them off of the joint of the spire with enough force to break the grip they held. But the shudder that ripped through the hull momentarily demagnetized their armor's soles, and the two Spartans found themselves tossed down towards the station's base in a zero-gravity free fall.

Alice tumbled head over feet but tried to spread her arms and legs out to recover her fortuitous dive. As she began to stabilize, she noticed her armor was charred and she prayed its integrity was still solid. Once Alice had regained control of her fall she started looking for Douglas, only to find him floating behind her a good dozen meters away. His body was limp and Alice felt her throat tighten.

She looked forward again and realized they were hurling towards the base's hull at a dangerous speed. Alice knew if she could land on her feet, she could lock in place and hopefully not jar herself unconscious from the impact. But Douglas, in his current trajectory, would slam headfirst into the hull.

Fighting back panic and dizziness, Alice kicked her way around to put her feet facing the station and her head craning upward to keep an eye on Douglas. She silently cursed his good nature for shielding her from the blast and braced herself for the impact.

She risked one last glance at Douglas before focusing on the hull. While it was flat and similar in structure to the spire's panels, the upper surface was smooth and coated in cosmic dust. Alice clenched her teeth and landed hard on two different panels. Her knees started to buckle, but her armor absorbed most of the impact and she only felt a slight punch to her insides as gravity did it's best to push her down. Through sheer strength, Alice stayed upright and felt her thighs burn. Even with augmented muscles, it seemed as if she was squatting much more than the metric tonnage of her armor. She quickly locked her soles and felt a solid magnetic lock underneath.

Once Alice was firmly in place, she lifted her gaze and saw Douglas drifting away from her. So much so, that something had to have interrupted his fall. When she saw the glint of metallic debris lodged in his upper right arm, she had her frightful answer. She began to follow his twisting path, moving to her left, and she kept her eyes on him the whole time. Douglas was coming in faster now and he was only meters away. She raised her outstretched arms. _Almost there_ . . .

Alice took another step with her left foot but couldn't find purchase. Her balance faltered and she stumbled sideways. Her eyes growing wide, Alice glanced down to find she had nearly walked off of the station entirely, only to be anchored in place by her right magnetic sole. She bent her right knee and her rear hit the edge of the upper hull. As Douglas was looming ever closer, Alice tried to position her left foot against the outer wall without twisting her ankle. She succeeded in mild discomfort and stretched out her arms again. Douglas' form was still careening to her left and Alice knew it would be close.

His head was within arm's reach, but she let it slip through her hands and instead grabbed the collar of his armor with her right hand. With her left hand, she took hold of his right hip. Using his momentum from the fall, she pulled him towards her in a tight arc with all her might. His shoulders and back landed on Alice's stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of her and she felt her left foot disengage from the hull. Douglas' legs landed in her lap as he bounced off of her.

Alice held on to him as his body ricocheted at an odd angle. She tried to pull him back down, but with only one foot holding them both to the hull, she felt herself rising. Alice converted the movement to her advantage and she was able to get both of her feet back underneath her. With her footing firmly established, Alice twisted Douglas around and planted his soles on the hull before he could go flying off in another direction.

She stood there panting for breath, slightly amazed that she had successfully retrieved her fellow Spartan from a certain death- or at the very least a rough re-entry into the planet's atmosphere. While her fear and uneasiness about spacewalking was still there, she now had a swelling confidence that she could be okay from here on out.

Alice took another step forward to get away from the perilous edge and kept a firm grip on Douglas. For a brief second she imaged herself as a puppeteer, given the way she was clutching Douglas' armor, but she soon brought him in closer and kept him upright by wrapping her arms around his torso. During that moment she closed her eyes and caught her breath.

As soon as she collected herself well enough to continue, Alice consulted her alien overlapping map and thanked God a hatch was close by. She figured it belonged to the same circuit as the maintenance passageway they had used before and noted its distance. Alice bent her knees and lifted one of Douglas' soles off of the hull by tilting him to the side and placing her thigh underneath his. It was an arduous task, but short of dragging him, it was the only way to keep Douglas safe until she could assess his injuries.

They made it to the hatch and Alice awkwardly reached down to hit the small release panel. The hatch parted its three shutter-like blades and a flat, hazy blue field flickered into existence. Alice recalled how the previous force-field functioned, and she slowly lowered Douglas down. When the station's interior gravity took over, she felt it pull Douglas from her grip and he made the last half meter to the ground unhindered. He slowly collapsed into a heap and Alice quickly jumped through the hatchway to land beside him.

She keyed the hatch closed and immediately rush to Douglas' side and linked her armor's onboard diagnostics with his. She carefully rolled him onto his back and nervously waited for the biometric results to spill out on her visor.

When the diagnostic program finished it came up with bold red letters that read: INVALID. Alice cursed out loud and knelt down beside Douglas, placing worried hands on his chest to see if he was breathing. But encased in his armor, any physical sign of his anatomy functioning was void. "C'mon, Doug," Alice growled. She shook him with no result.

Fighting back another wave of panic, Alice unfastened his helmet's latches and slowly pulled off Douglas' headgear. His black-haired head bobbed back and his hazel eyes were closed. To Alice, it seemed like an eternity since she had last seen Douglas in the flesh, and it took her a second to reminder herself that his pale complexion was genetic and not from lack of oxygen.

Alice had to be sure. She lowered her head and tilted her left auditory sensor towards his face to hear if he was breathing, but her nervous panting gave no clear noise floor to listen. She pulled off her own helmet and tossed it aside. Once the slight breeze from the passageway hit her neck, she suppressed a chill and leaned forward. She could feel her curly black locks of hair tickle her ears and forehead as the elastic sheath that held her hair in place snapped off.

Finally able for physical human contact, Alice leaned her head over Douglas' face and felt his soft warm breath wheezing from his nostrils. While it was shallow, it was still a good sign that he wasn't totally incapacitated. She breathed a sigh of relief and held back the urge to cry.

While death's looming presence was something every soldier lived with, to come so close to losing someone so dear released a rolling tide of emotions Alice had rarely experienced before. Fear of spacewalking was completely overshadowed by the fear of losing Douglas. Not having Jerome there with them made it even more difficult for her to handle. But breaking down in a wallowing sob wouldn't help and she swallowed past another lump in her throat.

Alice gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and pulled away to examine his right arm. The small piece of shrapnel had lodged itself under his pauldron but it looked as if it had not pierced through to his skin. She was tempted to yank it out, but she didn't want to risk further injury or discomfort to him. She leaned back on her haunches and placed her hands in her lap.

It felt mildly ironic to Alice that the armor they wore had saved their lives and yet in order to verify Douglas' survival, Alice had to shed that same layer of protection. In some ways she felt the same being true of her own emotional state. While fear and trepidation were always present, courage wasn't the absence of those two hindrances. Her training, her experience, her bond with Douglas and Jerome- these were what made her the fighting machine she was. Fear, if used properly, was a motivator.

A staccato of tones from her helmet broke her musings and she stretched out her right hand to retrieve her headgear. Alice pulled her hair back as best she could and secured her helmet on her head. The diagnostic had finally returned with a readout. Douglas' vitals were all in the green, but he was still unconscious. At the bottom of her visor was a query to manually activate Douglas' armor's neural stimulant package. It was something commonly used to revive Spartans that required palpatory revival.

Alice paused when she considered zapping him. As much as she wanted to see him up and moving she knew his body needed the rest. They had been moving nonstop since their boots had hit the interior of _Tradewind_. And despite the adrenaline still coursing in her veins, Alice knew she was exhausted as well.

And to add another layer of helplessness, she wasn't sure what to do next. The logical choice was to head for the cruiser on one of the lower spires. If the commander of the ODSTs had any sense, he would secure the ship and lock it down. But something inside Alice wondered if the Monitor had not already transported her fellow soldiers off and put them in a holding cell somewhere. Contrite Variant had said that if the ODSTs didn't do anything to disrupt security then they would be left alone.

Regardless, she and Douglas had to find them, but fainting from exhaustion wouldn't help at all. Alice sighed and set a programmed timer to wake them in a few hours. She got her legs out from underneath her and pushed herself back against the passageway wall.

Alice leaned back and closed her eyes.

* * *

As the Phantom entered the forward hangar bay, Bren began to breath a little easier. The familiar lines and colors of the Covenant ship seemed to wrap around them and pull them closer.

The pilot steered the dropship to a stop at the forward-most slot of the bay. His hands lifted off the controls and he glanced over at his superior. "Should I leave the engines running?" he asked.

Bren worked his mandibles before answering. Even with his vast knowledge of system automation to get _Unwavering Fortitude_ into slipspace and back to _High Charity_, there was still Human survivors tainting his ship. And he wasn't up for any more fighting. "No. Come with me."

They exited the Phantom and headed for the petal-shaped door to their right. Bren did his best to hide the discomfort in his back, but he figured the venerable pilot wouldn't help him unless called upon.

Once they were inside the belly of the cruiser, Bren made for the nearest console. He entered his override command and brought up the list of ship automation functions he had on standby. But every selection was highlighted in deep purple, letting him know none were accessible. He grounded his teeth and hit the first automation that would pull the cruiser from the docking port on the spire.

A negative beeping tone was his answer and he slammed a fist on the console, cracking the delicate touch surface in the process. He tried another automation program, but Bren was met with the same result. He growled in anger and winced when the pain in his back told him outbursts were not a good idea.

He didn't know how, but the Humans had locked him out of the ship's computer systems. _Either that, or I didn't set up my overrides exactly right_. Bren wanted to beat himself to a pulp for the possible oversight. His superiors had always told him how thorough he needed to be in dealing with coding, but in his line of work, he rarely had the time to practice. _Maybe I'm not the Ship Master I thought I once was_ . . .

Shaking his head in disgust, he knew there were a few options on the table. "Pilot," he muttered with his head down. "Head to the Reactor. Do you know where that is?" he asked, slowly raising his head.

"Yes," he replied with a crispness in his voice not usually found among pilots.

"Good. Head there and await my instructions. I'll signal you over the ship's comm." Bren turned to face the fellow Sangheili. "I'm going to my chambers and see if I can access my overrides from there. If the system is still down, I'll need you to reset the Core." He watched as the pilot stirred in his place at the very mention of complying with such a risky order. "Do you understand?"

The pilot straightened up and nodded. "Yes, Ship Master."

"Very well," Bren said. He frowned and tilted his head slightly. "What is your name, pilot?"

"Jakli Themul," he said with a hint of a smile. He nodded once more and turned on his right hoof and left.

Bren let the name bounce around in his head but no bells rang out. He was vaguely familiar with the clan name _Themul_, and had never interacted with one of its members until now. As he watched Jakli turn down the end of the hallway, Bren couldn't help but feel an unsettling notion itching at the base of his skull. There was no reason to doubt the pilot's devotion to the Covenant, but something about Jakli's nature told Bren he was hiding something.

Starting for his chambers, Bren was going to make sure to stop by an armory on the way there.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

James Cutter stared at the holographic representation of the station the Monitor had coined "Installation B-23." Outlined in light blue, its triangular central base had pillars like fingers branching out from the top and bottom. B-23 orbited around a sizable planet that hosted no indigenous life to speak of, according to the translated data noted in a text window next to the world. The shear size of the installation would dwarf any orbital defense platforms found on either Reach or Earth. It's overall design was reminiscent of the structures found on the alien shield world but spoke of a certain purpose not yet defined.

Beside him, Serina appeared on her pedestal, all vibrant and wide-eyed. "It's quite amazing, isn't it, Captain."

James gave her a curious look. "How so?" he asked, figuring the obvious immensity of the station wasn't her point.

Serina turned her head to him and smiled. "We're learning more and more about the builders of these structures with each new find." She tilted her head to the hologram. "The Monitor identified its creators as the _Forerunners_, and given this station's energy statistics, it's not a far stretch to conclude the shield world we left was made by them as well."

Cutter frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "All of this is well and good for the ONI techs to rummage through, but we need to know what to expect in terms of defenses and weaponry."

Across from the tactical display, Jerome grunted. "And how to shut them down," he added. "What about the Covenant Cruiser? It could have just as easily left or called in reinforcements."

"If that is the case, then this would no longer be a rescue mission," Serina said quietly.

James raised his right hand and waved the concerns away. "Regardless of the current situation at B-23, it _is _the last know whereabouts of our missing soldiers." He sighed and lowered his hand. "We go in, and we go in hot." With a nod of his head, he motioned back to the floating hologram. "From what Anders had deduced from her preliminary scan of the data, this is just a research station, is that correct, Serina?"

The AI slowly nodded. "Yes, Captain, and it appears any defenses would be internal." The station's image highlighted several points along both it's base and the spires jutting outward. "There are several docking bays and collars we could use, but in the _Spirit of Fire_'s current state, I would not recommend any such maneuvers."

"Then we'll ferry over troops in Pelicans," James commented. He looked up at the Spartan. "092, I assume you'll be on the first bird?"

Jerome opened his mouth to answer, but the shifting of light behind him caused the Spartan to turn partly around.

"We will," Ellen Anders said for both of them, entering the conversation as smooth as Cutter had ever seen her do. She stepped up next to Jerome and placed her hands on the edge of the tactical display's railing. She gave a look between the Captain and the Spartan and smiled. "If what Serina says about this installation and the shield world being related, then I will already have a head start on interfacing with the alien technology we find."

James watched Jerome's face for any sign of disagreement, and instead saw the briefest of smiles bloom before quickly dying out. "It makes sense, Sir," the Spartan said.

Captain Cutter gave them both a curious look. Before on Harvest, Sergeant Forge had vehemently disagreed on Anders' immediate involvement at the polar dig site. In the end they had barely escaped the Covenant trap, and James sincerely hoped they were not walking into the same situation this time. _This time, there's almost too many variables_. "Very well." He looked over at Serina. "What about this Monitor? He still seems like an unknown participant."

Serina made a sound that simulated a clearing of the throat. "Based on the reports of several Marines that were battling the Covenant in _Tradewind_'s starboard docking bay, an Elite was able to capture the Monitor via a shoulder-slung device, disabling it, so to speak." Serina pulled up a hazy, blurry image from one Marine's helmet docu-cam.

To James, the image appeared to be an Elite in black armor holding what looked like a fuel rod cannon. But as the static image shifted to motion, the video revealed the device pulling a round object on streams of swirling light. The video abruptly shut off when the Elite had his prize and began to turn around.

"Clever, if not practical," Serina commented. "If the Covenant needs such a device to capture a rogue AI, then it might not be a bad idea to obtain something similar."

Cutter frowned but looked across the tactical display. "Anders? Any ideas?"

She pursed her lips in thought, then suddenly snapped her fingers. "The Gremlin. I bet if I can find a way to compartmentalize the laser, amplifier, and power source, I could rig up a one-use EMP cannon that could zap the living daylights out of the Monitor." She raised her eyebrows. "That could keep it quiet for a long time."

James glanced up at the Slipstream exit countdown clock on the back wall. "If you can do it in the next six hours . . ."

"I'm on it," Anders said with a smile.

"Until then, I'll brief the squad commanders and make a ship-wide announcement about our intentions." James keyed a control panel on the display and the hologram vanished. He gave Spartan 092 a steady gaze. "Rest assured, we'll find our soldiers."

Jerome straightened up and gave a crisp salute that the Captain returned. With a click of his heels, the super soldier turned and started for the door with Anders in his wake.

"Big day planned," Serina muttered beside him.

Cutter snorted and smiled. "With any luck we can at least make it short." He scratched the hair behind his right ear and turned to Serina. "In the event that this alien AI would make its way aboard this ship, would you be able to defend yourself if it attacks?"

Serina was silent for a pair of seconds before straightening her back and nodding. "The _Spirit of Fire_ will not fall into enemy hands, whether they be Covenant or other."

James eyed her curiously. Before she had been unexpectedly shut down, Serina would have made a joke about the situation, but with her new-old programming, she was exponentially more serious. While Cutter welcomed this change of attitude, there was a part of him that missed her dry sense of humor.

He nodded to Serina and started for the doorway leading out of the bridge. He had a full schedule to keep and a battle to prepare for.

* * *

As soon as Jerome entered the lift, he felt the brush of air against his side. He turned around and keyed the doors shut to find Ellen Anders smiling up at him to his left. He returned her expression and pulled her in for a hug and kiss. She smelled lovely to him, and couldn't help but reminisce on the previous night. "Last night was-"

But before he could answer, she kissed him again, this time full of the passion and desire they had shared only hours previous. She hugged him tighter.

Jerome felt his pulse quicken and his extremities flush with heat, but he slowly pulled out of the kiss and tucked her head underneath his chin. "I take it you missed me?"

Ellen laughed and bounced a fist off of his chest. "Don't act like you don't feel the same." He could feel her smile against his thin layers of clothing. "Yes, I missed you."

"Same here." Jerome sighed and held her at arms' length. He could read her deep desire to further their bodies' passionate entanglement from the night before, but the time frame wouldn't allow it. "We both have a lot to do today . . ." He trailed off and watched Ellen's smile soften.

"I know," she conceded, giving his forearms a squeeze. "Just promise me that when we're on our way back to UNSC-controlled space, you and I will delay our appointments in the Cryo Rooms."

Jerome gave her the biggest smile he could. "Count on it."

* * *

Nathan Parker awoke with the artificial dawn and the smell of fresh coffee wafting from a nearby cooker. He leaned forward from his inclined position on the large stone he had called a bed and worked his head around in several circles, eliciting a few cracks from his neck. Shuffling feet to his left made him focus on a pair of dirty boots caked in dried mud.

"Coffee?" asked a soft, female voice.

Nathan looked up to see Toril Holmen standing before him, holding two steaming mugs of the wake-up juice. Her long golden hair was draped over her right shoulder and breast, and she was smiling. "Sure," he croaked, immediately clearing his throat. "Sure," he repeated in a more humanoid fashion.

Toril bent down on one knee and gave him a mug. "It's hot."

Taking an experimental sip, he wasn't surprised to find the coffee hot, but he was amazed at the potency. "Strong enough to melt the face off an Elite." He gave her a curious look. "How long have you been up?" he asked, noting how fresh and awake she looked.

She shrugged and took a sip herself. "Woke up a little early and took a quick dip in the lake we found late last night. Had to backtrack a little, but the privacy was worth it."

Nodding, Nathan let the warmth from the mug spread into his hands. "Well, I wish I could have been there to see that," he murmured under his breath.

Toril gave him a backhanded slap across his armored chest but still smiled. "The things you miss while sleeping."

Nathan smiled back and felt himself steadily waking up with every second he looked into her brilliant blue eyes. He knew there was still a level of infatuation he had to work through, but there was such a warmth that accompanied Toril whenever she was present. And with their most recent relational revelation, Nathan wondered how much of his desire to know her was mutual.

"Up and at 'em," Sergeant Williams bellowed from a position relative North of where the two ODSTs sat.

_And like most relationships in the military, ours will be put on hold_. Nathan growled and took one gigantic swig from his mug, feeling the hot liquid burn both tongue and throat, and handed it back to Toril. "Let's go."

The makeshift campground was empty within half a minute of Williams' order and the UNSC force was again on the move. The troopers made it down the rocky hillside without incident and were soon in an orderly, two-column march.

They traversed through a large, rocky canyon only to find that halfway through, the temperature was beginning to fall sharply with each klick. The coldness quickly made those soldiers that had not donned on gloves to do so, and the slither of clouds creeping in soon blotted out the faux sunlight. Nathan could feel the chill in his bones and wondered just how cold it would get. But soon his armor adjusted its internal climate regulator and he began to feel more comfortable.

The sergeant's call to halt brought the company to a stop and news of an exit trickled down the line of soldiers. After a short respite the ODSTs were again moving, only this time through a tall, angular opening wide enough to permit two at a time. The doorway led them inside into a gray hall of equal measure that broke right then left in a zig-zag pattern. At the hall's end, there was a similar pair of doors bracketed in a soft green light.

The soldiers filed in that last straight stretch of hallway and Nathan watched Williams and Miller converse at the door's release panel. He wondered what could be waiting for them beyond the tall, angular opening, but if he was reading his waypoint correctly, they were getting very close to the source of the jamming. Nathan frowned and checked the distance again: 1.2 kilometers. _Holy crap, we're close_. He quickly looked up and wanted to shout the good news, but the passive looks he received told him most had forgotten their destination and its importance.

The double doors parted with a shudder and opened up into a wintry landscape. The ground was covered in fine white powder and even the few trees and rocks closest to the doorway were covered in snow. Tiny flakes fell lazily to the ground and the lack of a breeze made the moment surreal. It was as if the natural condition of the spire was to be in a state of winter but the environmental system had been shut off. Nathan knew it wasn't the case, but the peacefulness of the falling snow led him to believe he had stumbled into a dreamworld.

The two columns of ODSTs marched into the last section of their journey and Nathan could finally feel a sense of expectancy from his fellow troopers. The vastness of the final chamber was akin to their first encounter with the artificial environment, only this one was covered in snow. The ground rolled and rose at random intervals to suggest a giant had stomped his way through the snow, leaving huge divots and craters for others to climb and traverse. There was even a large crack running off to their left and Nathan followed it's jagged line to the distant angular shapes up ahead of him.

Beside him, Toril gasped. "Look at that."

Just as she commented, Nathan looked through the gentle snowy haze and spied what had caused her to shudder. Nearly a kilometer away there rose up a huge, triangular structure embedded in the snow and rock, as if it were a natural formation. Dark gray in color with a semi-reflective surface, the front of the structure looked like a giant portico, complete with triangular pillars, and the darkened interior spoke of hidden rooms and doorways. In a way it resembled a pyramid that had been turned 45 degrees and cut in half with a large portion of its midsection scooped out for easy access.

Nathan double-checked his waypoint and sure enough, the source of the jamming signal was coming from inside the structure, dead ahead.

"Form up by squads," Williams announced, his voice echoing off the distant rocky walls.

Toril and Nathan followed orders and joined up with the rest of Bravo at the front of the line. Since Williams was the de-facto leader of the entire contingency, his squad would take point. The sergeant assigned flanking positions to other squads and they were soon moving again.

The snow crunched underneath his feet, and Nathan Parker keep his eyes fixed on the colossal building. Through the snow, he thought he saw something moving under the portico. He then frowned and switched to his SRS Sniper Rifle, finally being able to take advantage of the weapon's range. He took a few galloping steps to move ahead of the group and bent down on one knee. Looking through the scope, he magnified his view. Nathan panned his sights back and forth but couldn't see any more movement.

Footsteps stopped at his side and Nathan heard Toril pull out her SMG. "You see something?"

Parker lifted his head and frowned. "I thought I did. Nothing, now."

She patted him on the shoulder. "All clear, Sir," Toril announced to Williams who was coming along side them.

Nathan slowly stood back up and joined the marching cadence, his nerves growing with each compacting step.

* * *

As the ODSTs started up the incline just right of center of the structure, Nathan felt a knot growing in his stomach. The outer design of the massive building spoke of some ancient sacrificial method where one would be led up any of the four straight inclines to gather under the covered, open area, only to be killed on site. Nathan knew it was completely ridiculous to think such a thought, but if any security forces wanted to attack from higher ground, the ODSTs wouldn't stand a chance.

He glanced over to his left where Sergeant Miller was leading the second group up the incline just left of center. The random slits in the three meter-high separation wall allowed brief glimpses of the soldiers, but every once in a while, there would be a break in the wall for a half dozen meters.

Upward they marched, until the crest was finally in view. The forward line spread out to cover every possible angle, and Nathan found himself beside Toril Holmen on the far right side. Williams held up a hand and the entire group stopped. Sergeant Williams trotted over to Miller and after a short talk both men looked over at Corporal Winters who was standing beside the separation wall. They waved the man forward and the ODST pulled out his datapad in transit.

Nathan tried to focus his attention on the dark interior of the structure, but kept finding his gaze drifting back to the conversing trio. Winters pointed towards the inner sanctum of the building and both sergeants nodded in approval.

Williams twirled a finger above his head and waved his hand three times, signaling the front three squads to move on ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Nathan started for the bobbing waypoint floating on his HUD. As soon as he reached the edge of the portico, his visor adjusted to the lower-level light and he found three pairs of doors spread out along the entrance. The pillars holding up the curved roof looked much bigger than what he had perceived from a distance, but the normal-sized doors would easily accommodate a single human, squashing the previous myth that the builders of the station were giants.

He took a position against the wall of the nearest doorway and Toril joined him at his side. She then tapped him on the shoulder and he leaned his head back, not taking his eyes off the translucent door. "What?"

"Move," she urged.

"Huh?"

Toril reached around and tapped his SRS. "You going to be sniping in there?"

Nathan's face flushed red and he swapped positions with her. He always felt comfortable with his chosen rifle, but common sense dictated someone with a closer-combative weapon should take first point. He wasn't even sure why he hadn't switched back to his M6 pistol, but something told him he might need the extra firepower.

Winters hurried over to the left side of the doorway and started pounding away on his datapad. While there was no release panel that Parker could see, the door did retract into the ground when the fellow corporal entered in his final command.

Toril led Bravo Team through and Nathan wasn't surprised to find another wonder of alien technology awaiting them. He first noticed the three blue shafts of energy pulsing up from the center of the giant room to vanish into a section of the ceiling that dipped down to just a dozen meters. A ring of consoles formed a half-circle around the shafts and their flashing lights spoke of their current use. Ramps leading to an opened upper level wrapped around the outer edges of the room, giving the appearance of an observational balcony for supervisors to monitor their laborers below.

And at even intervals of ten meters, where the walls met the ceiling, were multiple round hatches with a single green light placed at their base. Nathan had not seen that particular feature before and wondered what their purpose was.

"Winters," Sergeant Williams called out from the center doorway.

"Sir," the ODST responded, turning to face his commander.

"Take Tanner, here, and see about disabling the jamming signal." Williams motioned for the tall, lanky soldier to detach himself from the far left group. "He's the tech specialist from Miller's squad and if the two of you can't end this comm blackout-"

"We're on it," Winters blurted out before Williams could complete his sentence. The corporal nodded his head for Tanner to follow and the two started for the array of blinking consoles.

"Defensive pattern Alpha," Williams ordered. "Bravo and Charlie Teams take the high road."

Beside Parker, Toril grumbled a complaint. "Means we'll be the last ones out."

Nathan shrugged and started for the ramp to his right that would lead them up to the second level. "C'mon." He knew his sergeant wasn't taking any chances by leaving holes in the defense, but the given pattern was susceptible to crossfire if things got hairy.

On the second floor, it was much more a bisected platform than it was an actual story. The floor wrapped around the front of the room in a curved walkway, and the waist-high railing framed the edges where the level stopped well short of the energy shafts. Nathan imagined from a bird's eye view it would have looked like someone had taken a bite off the second story to form two symmetrical balconies.

Toril pointed to their right and they both took a position deeper into the room along the corner closest to the shafts. The balcony only jutted out a dozen meters at the widest point, but the length of it had the rest of Bravo spread thin. Directly across from them, on the other side of the chamber, were two members from Charlie Team and Toril waved at them.

The one ODST holding an MA5B gave a mock salute while the other gave an unfriendly hand gesture.

"And that's why you're on Charlie Team," Toril sighed.

Nathan couldn't help but chuckle. He knelt down next to her and looked over the railing at Winters and Tanner hammering away at the alien consoles. "Think they can crack it?"

"Let's hope so. This place gives me the creeps."

Nathan couldn't agree more.

* * *

Bren slipped into the comfort of his private quarters and badly wanted to fall into bed and rest. But instead he sealed the door behind him and walked into his personal washroom. He quickly pulled the pain suppression meds from his pouch that he had retrieved from the Armory and injected the blue liquid into his bare neck. He fought against the agonizing sensation and soon the pain in his back subsided to a tolerable level.

He took a deep breath- his first in a while- and tossed the discarded injector onto the counter top. He waited till the numbness in his neck faded then resisted the urge to throw up. Bren had never needed to be on such a high dose of pain meds, and he wasn't expecting such intense disorientation from the drugs. He stumbled back into his room and collapsed into the chair at his desk.

His body was telling him to stop and rest, but Bren's mind was racing with thoughts. He abruptly sat up and turned on his terminal. He quickly accessed the crew list and searched for the pilot, Jakli Themul. When the information pulled up on the holoscreen, he leaned back to read the text and frowned.

Jakli Themul had been a decorated Seraph fighter pilot with exceptional distinction in the Helos Moon Conflict. He had led his squadron against a numerically superior foe and not only managed to eliminate the Kig-yar fighters, but with daring strafing runs, they brought down a Heavy Cruiser. After receiving recognition for his gallantry, Jakli requested a transfer to Special Operations and it was granted with little delay from the Military Tribunal.

Bren's frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes. There was a period of four Lunar cycles where Jakli's whereabouts were unaccounted for. And it just happened to be right before he took the position as a Phantom pilot aboard _Unwavering Fortitude_.

Then suddenly Bren recalled where he had heard the pilot's name. It was the shared clan name of the notorious assassin Zal Themulee.

Nearly a hundred years ago, Zal was convicted of assassinating a high-ranking Sangheili Councilman while the politician was consorting with another Councilman's mate. The only thing that had tied Zal to the murder was a few trace fibers found in the victim's pool of blood. Zal was silent during his trial, and never lived to be executed; he committed suicide by ingesting a vile of _grapri_ in his holding cell. But no one knew how he had gotten access to the deadly poison.

Years later, Zal Themulee was traced to nearly a dozen political homicides. The authorities had tried to find out if Themulee had any accomplices or handlers, but the trail went cold with Zal- though fears of a secret, organized group spread like wildfire.

Bren swallowed past the lump in his throat. The only reason he knew of Zal's story was because Bren's father had told him of his Honor Guard grandfather that was murdered right about the time Zal had made his circuit through the Council ranks. "An innocent bystander" is what the authorities concluded. "Must have walked in on the assassin," is what they had said.

Trepidation swelled in Bren's mind as the worst of fears found a foothold in his thoughts_. Has Zal's offspring come to personally eradicate my clan in the form of a Spec Ops assassin?_ _Why would I be a target?_ Bren took another deep breath and forced himself to relax. _Surely there was no way a Phantom pilot would risk killing his Ship Master. Especially not here, at this Forerunner Relic_

But then a shiver ran up Bren's spine. As far as he knew, there was no other Covenant alive on the ship, no one to witness and report such a mutinous act. _But why hasn't he tried already?_ Jakli had all the time in the galaxy to kill him in the privacy of the Phantom.

Bren growled at his circumstances, feeling more like he was on top of a _Jjrahli _tree, being swayed in the breeze of confusion. He couldn't decide what to make of the pilot with incriminating ties. He straightened up in his chair and closed the crew manifest list. Regardless of Jakli's intentions, Bren still needed the pilot's help. If he could keep Jakli occupied and elsewhere, Bren just might make it back to the safety of Covenant-controlled space in one piece.

But first thing's first; he needed to take back control of _Unwavering Fortitude_.

Bren worked his mandibles and began the tedious process of accessing the root programs that would allow him to enter his override commands. And if he couldn't get that to work, he would have the pilot reset the Core- _or die trying_.

* * *

An incessant beeping from the center of the room caused Nathan's eyes to widen and look downward. Winters was hunched over one of the consoles while Tanner was at his side, shaking his head. The lights on all the consoles flashed in tandem for a few seconds before settling on a collective yellow hue. Winters exchanged a look with Tanner, but neither said a word.

"What's going on?" Sergeant Miller demanded from the central doorway. He marched over and looked at the blank holoscreen. "Did you shut it down?"

"I . . . don't think so." Winters held out his datapad to find the screen also blank. He tapped a few keys to no effect. "We're locked out," he said, sounding more confused than disappointed.

"Try again," Williams said, joining them from his spot along the consoles' end.

"It won't work," Tanner rumbled. He pressed a panel under one of the holoscreens and was greeted with a negative tone. "We're locked out of the system."

Nathan watched Sergeant Williams' stance straighten. He could tell his commander was as frustrated as the two techs, but the sergeant quickly waved over two more men. "Then it's plan B."

Parker sighed and leaned back on his haunches. He looked over at Toril and shook his head. "Time to light the charges."

"When in doubt, blow it up," Toril said, citing one of the many slogans the Marines had coined.

He sighed and let his gaze drift over the other soldiers gathered in the large room. Most looked on edge and a few even looked antsy, bobbing from one foot to the other like a runner before a race. But when he looked over at the two men of Charlie Team that mirrored their own position on the second floor, a brief flicker of the green light on the base of the hatch above the distant pair made Nathan look up.

The octagonal hatches were opening.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Muttering a curse, Bren slammed his fist down on the desk. His override codes were ineffective and he was unable to access the cruiser's bridge. He didn't know what was more humiliating: the idea that the Humans were skilled enough to lock him out, or the possibility that he had not properly set up his master overrides. Either way, the option was off the table.

Sighing with a growling breath, Bren activated the ship's internal comm line, making sure to send the proper recognition code that only a fellow Sangheili would recognize. Even in his native tongue, he didn't want the Humans knowing that there was any Covenant on board coordinating a plan to take back _Unwavering Fortitude_.

It took Jakli Themul only a moment to access a communications hub. "Ship Master," he prompted.

"Where are you?" Bren half asked, half demanded.

"Just aft of the portside weapons blister."

Bren clenched his teeth in thought. The distance the pilot had covered wasn't as much as Bren would have expected and he wondered if Jakli had stopped off somewhere on a private errand. Bren let the silence linger on for a few breaths, letting Jakli know his frustration. "Continue on to the Core. Signal me when you reach Engineering."

"As you wish, Ship Master," Jakli said. There was a brief squelch over the comm and the transmission was cut off.

While Bren wasn't sure if he could detect a mocking tone in the pilot's voice, he was almost certain Jakli couldn't be trusted. _But if he can reset the Core, then my need for him will be done_. Bren allowed himself a smile. _And then I can dispose of him_.

* * *

Before Nathan Parker could open his mouth and warn the ODSTs across the room of their impending doom, he was pulled down from the railing by a frantic Toril.

"Look out!" she cried.

Instead of fighting against her tug, Nathan rolled onto his back and sprung up on his feet. It was just in time. A streak of golden light splashed on the ceramic floor Nathan had just vacated, superheating the hexagonal pattern in a split second. He traced the beam back to its source and found a familiar-shaped mechanical drone he thought he would never see again.

The floating machine had just exited the hatch directly above Holmen and Parker, and while Toril's warning had saved his life, the drone was orienting to fire its under slung weapon at Nathan.

Toril didn't waste any more time and emptied her SMG clip at the target, bringing its shields down. The drone started to turn towards the new annoyance and Nathan quickly pulled out his M6 and fired at the small, protruding head. It took him four shots but the last two rounds struck the head, reducing it to slag. The drone immediately lost power and collapsed to the ground in a ruined heap.

"Contacts!" Nathan finally bellowed, his mind fully engaged in the battle.

"They know," Toril informed him. She pointed at the upper portion of the wall a dozen meters down. "There's more."

"C'mon. We're cannon fodder up here," Nathan said between clenched teeth. He glanced over the railing and saw Sergeant Williams waving Bravo and Charlie Teams down to join the rest of the soldiers at the cover of the ring of computer consoles. Several ODSTs were firing at more of the floating machines coming out of multiple hatches along the far wall.

"Move!" Toril yelled to the other members of Bravo, waving her arm in the process.

The top-level occupants flew down the ramps, ducking their heads and weaving a path to make themselves harder to target. Meanwhile, the rest of the ODSTs that were not running to cover were providing suppressing fire for the others. The whole room lit up in the exchange of opposing fire. The drones fired their golden beams at the fleeing soldiers while the cackle of UNSC weaponry tried to collapse the shields of the slower moving targets.

Nathan rounded the corner and bolted for the ring of consoles. To his left, he noticed the three outer doors were closed and outlined in eerie red lighting. Then Toril came into view, firing her second clip into a drone hovering above. He pulled her along, throwing off her aim in the process, but she didn't resist. Running as fast as they could, they were soon diving over the alien terminals to land in between their sergeant and Corporal Winters.

Nathan hit the ground first and Toril almost landed on top of him. But she rolled out of the landing and snapped to her feet as fluidly as if she had planned it. With less grace, Nathan got to his knees and took survey of the firefight.

The last of the ODSTs were leaping for cover and from a dozen different angles the floating machines herded the troopers together. The beams of energy had not yet punctured armor, but a few men had scorch marks on the backs of their legs. The soldiers from Gamma and Delta Team kept their aim true and the number of drones was cut in half by the time the last ODST made it to safety.

"Call them as you see them," Williams ordered.

"9 'o clock high!" shouted someone to Nathan's far left. "Two and Three o' clock!" another called out.

One by one, Nathan aimed his pistol and waited for the drones' shields to collapse and nailed them with a pair of headshots. Toril pointed to one floating machine dead ahead, knocked out its shields, and he finished it off.

"Clear," Miller said, as the last drone was put down a meter from the right flank.

Sergeant Williams bit out a curse and raised his MA5B. "Status." As team leaders informed him of the soldiers in their squad, the reports were fairly similar. A few got a little cooked but were otherwise okay. "Winters, can you get those doors open?"

The corporal shook his head but still pulled out his datapad to confirm his suspicions. "Whatever security protocol locked us out of the consoles triggered a lockdown of the entire room."

"So . . . Plan B?" Miller asked.

Winters nodded once and pointed to the centralized columns of blue. "The power signatures coming from these energy shafts link to the consoles and I can only assume the disruption equipment as well. Destroying these should end the jamming, if not lessen its effectiveness."

"I concur, Sir," Tanner said.

Nathan imagined Williams' face turning sour when he spoke. "Demolitions." The pair of soldiers that had previous responded to the same beckon call stood up from their crouching postures. "One of you prep the charges here and one of you take out the center door."

Both ODSTs looked at each other and the one on the left shrugged. "Sir, we're down to our last three demo-packs. We can't guarantee that just having two on-"

"More contacts!"

Nathan tore his gaze away from the conversation and turned his head upward. More of the drones were emerging from the hatches. A new wave was coming.

As he took aim at the nearest floating sentinel, Nathan knew his sergeant had a tough decision to make. They could detonate all three charges on the energy shafts and most likely perish in the blast, or they could risk using only two and hope it was enough while taking the last charge and blowing an escape route. In Nathan's mind, it made him appreciate the role of his commander and his ability to bear the weight of such a burden.

* * *

Seated in his command chair, Captain James Cutter scratched at the stubble on his face. He didn't have time to run back to his room for a quick shave, let alone trim his mustache. He then smoothed the facial hair with thumb and forefinger, calming an itch under his nose. As soon as his captaincy was presented to him, James had worn a mustache and the very thought of not having it made him cringe. At first, his wife Mary was detested by the new facial feature, but she had eventually gotten use to it.

_Maybe when we return to dry dock I'll shave it off_. His face then scrunched up into a frown when he thought of what Mary was going through. The crew of the_ Spirit of Fire_ would have already been announced as "lost," but knowing his wife, James would bet on her not accepting such a fate. It gave him all the more reason to finish this last mission as fast as they could and head back home.

James relaxed his face and stood. "Serina, bring weapons systems online."

The ship's AI flickered into existence on the pedestal by the tactical display and nodded. "Done."

He walked up next to Serina and activated the comm to the main hangar bay. "Spartan 092, status."

The soldier's voice came back strong and confident. "Prepped and ready, Sir."

"Anders, are you sure that EMP cannon will work on the Monitor?" James asked, recalling the initial test results she provided him being a little inconsistent.

"Only one way to find out," she said on the other end of the comm. "Jerome's the only one big enough to actually carry it, so I'm sure he'll report his findings to you."

"Well, at least they're in good spirits," Serina commented with a smile.

James allowed himself a smirk as well. "I'll give you two the green light when we exit the Slipstream."

"ETA, 31 minutes, 22 seconds," Serina provided.

Resting his bony hands on the edge of the tactical display, James leaned forward. "Good luck down there."

* * *

Gregory Williams popped another clip into his assault rifle and ducked back down as a beam of yellow flame nearly sliced his head clean off. Things had quickly turned from bad to worse and he was right in the thick of it. A third wave of drones has just started adding to the already swarming group of targets and Greg knew his troopers could only stave off such a consistent force for so long.

The _Spirit of Fire_ was on its way, and if the ODSTs didn't end the electrical jamming, the ship's entire crew would perish.

_So this is how it ends_. Greg knew that as soon as his HEV pod left the belly of the _Spirit of Fire_ his chances of returning to the ship were slim. The unconventional way of boarding an enemy craft, and its subsequent departure, meant any form of backup would be long in waiting, if at all. He wasn't sure if the _Spirit of Fire_ could even follow them to the installation.

All Greg knew was that if his troops didn't end the jamming signal, many more than a few squads of ODSTs could perish. And there was no telling how many more drones would enter the battle. Greg sighed and clutched his weapon tightly. He always figured going out in a blaze of glory was a hell of a way to die, but it's another thing to actually face the inferno and dive right in. He snorted to himself. _Helljumpers. Now that's an understatement_.

With only three demo-packs, they needed to take out the energy shafts, leaving none to spare, and in a sense trap themselves in the chamber. In the end, there was no decision to make; it was the only way. Greg pursed his lips and cleared his throat. "Prep the three charges here at the shafts."

The Demolitions specialists both slowly turned to look at Williams. "Sir?" they questioned simultaneously.

"Can you detonate remotely?" Williams asked, ignoring their plea for reason.

They looked at one another, and after a few seconds, the one on the right shook his head. "Not with this comm blackout. We'll have to use timers."

"Fine." Greg looked out at the room, noting the nearly complete lack of cover it would offer. The only real safe haven would be the far left and right corners, where the base of the ramps led to the upper level. The problem with the small, isolated spaces was that they left the ODSTs vulnerable to the floating drones. He looked over at the fellow sergeant, and pointed out the corners of the room. "Miller. Fall back to the bottom of the ramps?"

Farther down the line, Miller came to the same conclusion and nodded. "Let's try to thin these buggers out a little first. Then I say we make a break for it."

"Sounds good." Williams returned his attention to the two Demolitions specialists. "Set the charges. We'll cover you."

The pair of soldiers looked hesitant, but nodded nonetheless.

As they unpacked the rectangular gray boxes from their satchels, Williams tapped Holmen and Parker on the shoulders. "Keep those drones off their backs," he yelled over the racket of battle. The two members of Bravo Team nodded and turned around to face the demo techs. Williams moved left, down the ring of consoles, to keep an eye on the busy pair while still contributing to suppressing fire.

The three energy shafts were completely identical in shape and size. A ring of hardened material framed the base where they came shooting out of the floor and it seemed the most logical choice to place the explosives. Greg knew that blowing up anything that harnessed a power generator was risking all sorts of collateral damage, but the pulsing blue tendrils encased in the shafts spoke of a solid build that would require such wanton destruction.

As dire as the need to set the charges, the drones above hardly noticed the hurried activity. Only one such target even oriented itself at the busied techs and Holmen brought it down within three seconds of its appearance. It took the pair of men no more than three minutes to fully arm the demolition charges, but in that time, another enemy wave was beginning to pour out into the room.

One of the demo techs hurried over to Williams and got his attention by placing a hand on the sergeant's shoulder and yelling into his right ear. "How long do you want the timers?"

Greg looked out to assess the battle and felt his heart sink a little further down. The number of drones nearly doubled the size of his UNSC force, and the crossing to either corner of the room would probably be the end of every third soldier that darted the distance. _A blaze of glory_. He could taste the bitterness of the moment on his tongue. "Set them for two minutes." He raised his voice to notify the rest of the troopers. "Make for the base of the ramps in 90 seconds."

The demo tech nodded and held up two fingers to his fellow specialist who was sandwiched in between the three shafts. The tech poised his hand over the master controller to carry out the order.

"Mark!" Williams bellowed, and set his own countdown on his HUD.

Then out of the corner if his eye, Greg saw one of the drones not even fully clear of its hatch explode. He turned his head and saw the tracer round of Parker's SRS lead back to the ODST who was already taking aim at another drone. On the ground by the sniper was an M6 pistol void of a clip.

Greg let a smile tug at his mouth but it quickly converted to a frown when he looked back at the recent kill. The burning chassis of the floating machine had landed on the upper level walkway, but the hatch it had barely come out of was a charred mess. The light at the base of the octagonal opening was now glowing red and what was left of the bottom half of the hatch was closed.

An idea brewing in his head, his eyes widened. "Parker! Take aim at those lights on the hatches," he ordered, pointing to the nearest one on the far wall. "They must be some sort of control-release."

Nathan Parker nodded and raised his sniper rifle. His second shot seemed louder than the first, but with its focus on the true target, the result was spectacular. The round pierced through stubborn ceramic and unknown metal to cause the lock to malfunction, and the hatch slammed shut. Parker looked up at Williams.

Greg gave him a nod. "Take 'em down."

Parker systematically took out each hatch, only pausing to reload his four-round clip, and one by one, the drones' arrival was halted.

"Keep pouring it on!" Miller yelled from the other end of the console ring. There was a wounded soldier at his feet, bleeding from a severed arm, but the sergeant kept firing at the diminishing number of targets. "Get ready!"

Williams quickly looked down at the bottom of his heads-up-display and with Parker's success at combating the drones' entrances, he had completely lost track of time. "Demolitions, can you stop the countdown?" He spun his head around, but no one answered.

Finally, on of the techs stumbled over, his armor was charred black across his chest. "Can't . . ." He dropped to one knee and started coughing. "Timer's been slagged," he wheezed out. "But the countdown's been internally fused, so it will still blow."

Williams glanced over at the master control switch smoldering in the middle of the shafts and he swore out loud. Parker still had two more hatches to go, but time was out. "Come on, Parker," he said, grabbing a fistful of the corporal's collar. "Let's move!"

Another SRS round rang out and another hatch slammed shut. "One more," Parker pleaded.

"On your feet, corporal," Williams growled, hauling the man up and pushing him forward. "Everyone, let's go!" He vaulted the consoles and stepped out onto the boneyard of several dozen burned-out chassis. All around him, ODSTs where emerging from cover and heading for the two designated spots in the far corners. The remaining drones shifted their aim, but the sprinting soldiers were too fast for them to maintain any sort of accuracy.

But two likely suspects were lingering at the rear of the hurried formation. Parker was stepping out into the center of the room to take aim at the last hatch, while Holmen watched his back and brought down yet another floating machine. The sniper raised his weapon, sighted down the target, and fired.

Debris blew out around the panel, and as soon as the hatch's light switched from green to red, the room's lighting dimmed and a rumbling pulse shook the ground. At first, Williams feared the timers on the explosives were going off prematurely, but the blue energy shafts were still shining brilliantly, casting Parker and Holmen in a ghostly silhouette. He waved them on, but Parker pointed forward and Holmen soon joined him in the gesture.

Greg spun on his heel to see that the three sets of doors were slowly opening. The lockdown had ended. His eyes widened briefly before raising his voice again. "Head outside! Everyone, MOVE!"

The divided groups on his left and right darted for the doors closest to them, while Williams, Parker, and Holmen started for the central doorway. Williams' eyes glanced down at the timer on his HUD.

Fifteen seconds remained.

* * *

"Twenty seconds to reversion, Captain."

"Thank you, Serina." Captain Cutter took a seat in his captain's chair and tried not to lean forward. "Have all hangar personnel standing by."

"Aye, Sir." Serina paused, and then added, "Ten seconds."

* * *

Nathan cleared the doorway and kept running forward. The rest of the ODSTs were heading down the inclines in a hurried but orderly fashion. Toril was at his side, pumping her arms and quickly outpacing him with her slightly longer legs.

Out of the corner of his visor, he saw one of the demolitions experts raise his hand while he was running. He then began lowering one finger for each second. _Four, three, two, one_.

"Get down!" he yelled to Toril. Just getting clear of the portico, Nathan leaped with Toril, their bodies balling up in mid-air to brace for the explosion.

A flash of light from behind him illuminated the dividing walls set between the inclines and he felt the shockwave throw him to the ground. He could feel the force of the blast ringing in his teeth and his equilibrium was thrown off.

His shoulder made first contact with the ground, followed by his head, and stars immediately exploded before his eyes. He flopped forward, landing on his stomach and the wind left his lungs in a harsh crunch. With his momentum, he began sliding down the incline, face-first.

Then the sonic rumbling of too much air being displaced filled his ears and he forced his head up to gaze upon the trail end of the explosion. Ardent fire mixed with blue plasma erupted from the three doorways, much like a trio of volcanoes. The heat washed over Nathan and he cringed at the burning sensation biting at his thinnest layers of armor. As the energy vented out of the two-tiered room, the ground's rumbling began to subside.

Nathan opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, and marveled at the sight. Miraculously, the structure held and shucked off the blast with only a blackened surface to show for it. He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but his lungs would only permit a hacking cough.

"Did that do it?" Toril asked from off to his left.

He placed his left arm underneath his body and pushed himself onto his right side. Typical of the corporal, she was bent down on one knee, hardly looking scathed or rattled at all. "Do what?" The ringing in his ears covered up his voice more that it did hers.

"End the jamming," she clarified.

And as if responding for her, a static squeal swelled up from his comm unit. It quickly reached the threshold and quieted back down. Nathan cycled through his unit's frequency presets and selected his comm for the default. "Sergeant?" he called into his headset mic.

"Read you loud and clear, Corporal," Williams said with more enthusiasm than Nathan thought he was capable.

"So we did it?" Winters said, his voice sounding tiny in Nathan's ear.

Toril nodded and helped Nathan to his feet with only minor moans and groans. "Let's hope we weren't too late."

* * *

Jerome sat in the belly of the Pelican with Ellen in the side jumpseat across from him. Her arms were folded across her chest and her legs were crossed. To Jerome, she was the classic, graceful image of femininity, and she was wearing a smirk that only accentuated her already stunning features. His expression hidden behind his visor, Jerome reached out his right foot and bumped hers. In turn, Ellen clamped both of her booted feet around his ankle then quickly let go and returned to her previous pose.

Jerome smiled and dipped his head. While donning on his armor was like taking a warm bath, he missed the opportunity to give Anders a quick kiss, let alone have her know he was smiling at her. But given the professional circumstances, he knew better than to show overt affection in front of those serving under him.

Over the dropship's comm, Serina continued the countdown. "_Five, four . . _."

Closing his eyes and bringing his mind to focus, he settled back in his seat. He had gone over the mission priorities in his head a hundred times. First thing was to locate those missing in action and begin evac procedures. The second was to eliminate any hostile forces that may present themselves. And the rest. . . he would make up as he went.

"_Two, one . ._ ."

While exiting the Slipstream was usually a seamless event, he relished in the comfort that he could detect such a vast deceleration hidden to most. _There it is; that slight pull in gravity_. Jerome opened his eyes and looked across the Pelican's passenger compartment at Ellen. The expression she now wore was one of focus and composure. It was time to go to work.

* * *

"_Mark_."

The _Spirit of Fire_ exited the slipstream with unusual smoothness, given the replacement FTL drive's underpowered torque. Stars flashed into view, framing a background to a nearby yellow sun and an earth-like planet below. The undeniable shape of Installation B-23 was dead ahead, orbiting above the planet's atmosphere.

James Cutter squinted his eyes at the glare from the sun spilling into the bridge, but the viewports quickly polarized and he could clearly see another recognizable shape tucked right up to one of the station's lower spires.

"Covenant Cruiser," Serina identified. On one of the forward viewscreens she brought up a magnified image of the vessel. "Energy signatures match the same cruiser that we previously engaged."

Cutter nodded. "Do a system-wide scan. See if any of its friends showed up." He got up from his command chair and circled around to the tactical display. The holographic plain rose up and quickly categorized the nearby planet, the station, and both UNSC and Covenant ships.

"Scans show nothing in the immediate vicinity," Serina said. "However I am detecting a dwindling amount of electromagnetic distortion surrounding the station."

"All stop," James ordered quickly, not wanting to repeat the effects of such a destructive wave of energy.

The view outside immediately halted its slow increase in size, as the _Spirit of Fire_ came to a sudden stop. "What are the options, Serina?"

"Sir, it appears there was a strong EM field in the area, but its power source must have just been shorted out." She turned to face Cutter and gave him a lopsided grin. "Perfect timing."

James felt his heart race for a brief moment before returning to normal. "Is it safe to continue on in?"

Serina held her chin up, as if in thought, then nodded once. "The lingering ions will be charged, but at the rate of decay we'll be within a nominal threshold."

Cutter's response was a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, Sir. It is safe to approach," Serina tried again.

"What's the cruiser's status?" he asked, pointing to the floating purple image.

"They appear to be on standby. No weapons charged or active."

"Let's hope it stays that way." Cutter keyed the comm on the tactical display's panel. "Spartan, you are clear to launch."

092's response was nothing short of excitement. "Aye, Sir."

James let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Go get 'em."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The old cabin window started to fog over as the outside temperature began to fall with the rain. A faint sound of children laughing echoed from the kitchen to enter Alice's cluttered room that she shared with four sisters. As inviting as her siblings' joy was, Alice kept her eyes fixed on the dirt driveway quickly turning into mud.

A vehicle was approaching, dark in color and unmarked. It splashed through a recently formed puddle and came to a stop well shy of her father's beat-up utility truck. Two men dressed in military uniforms stepped out and headed for the front door.

A rhythmic knock caused the laughter from the kitchen to cut off and the gentle pattering of her mother walking barefoot to the door was the only sound in the cabin. When the door creaked open, the pounding of the rain was almost piercing to Alice's ears. She abandoned her window and went to her bedroom doorway, peeking around the corner to watch the scene unfolding in the foyer.

"Ma'am," greeted the slightly taller man. He opened his mouth to say more, but Alice's mother waved them forward, out of the rain and into the comfort of a warm, dry interior. When the door shut, the house was quiet once more.

The two men took off their hats and held their head coverings to their chests. Both of them wore apologetic expressions and Alice frowned at their demeanor.

"Mom?" Alice's oldest sister asked. "What's going on?" she implored from the kitchen's doorway. A decade older, fifteen year-old Bethany wore a mask of worry. "Is this about Malcom?"

Alice's mother turned her head slightly back around, but kept her eyes on the two guests. "It's okay, Beth. Take your sisters to the family room." Bethany complied without argument.

While her mother kept her composure, Alice saw her lips tremble as she spoke. She took a cautious step forward. "Officers?"

"Mrs. Evelyn Blagg?" the shorter man asked, tilting his head forward in the process.

"Yes," she breathed.

Alice could feel the concern radiating from her mother as Evelyn brought her hands around her torso. Alice watched the two men exchange a glance, trying to decide who should speak.

Finally the taller man spoke. While his voice was deep and resonating, he spoke with a layer of emotion that broke up his words in pairs. "It is with our deepest sympathies to inform you that Malcom Blagg was fatally wounded on the battlefield four days ago." He cleared his throat, but didn't say anything else.

Evelyn's face went pale and her eyes instantly welled up. "Malcom?" Her hands rose to her mouth and she slowly shook her head. "Malcom," she breathed. As she closed her eyes, the tears rolled down her face and Evelyn fell to her knees, her soiled dress spreading out like a tablecloth on the floor.

Alice felt emotional confusion play havoc in her mind and she stepped out into the foyer. "Mom!" She ran unashamed to her sobbing mother and wrapped her arms around her neck. Her mother's tears felt cold against her forearm, but she didn't let go. Alice cried with her mother, more to empathize than anything else. The shock of the news had not completely sunk in.

Evelyn hugged her daughter tightly and continued to cry. Her shoulders bobbed up and down and soon the rest of her children were at her side asking what was happening.

Bethany dropped down to her knees and hugged both Alice and Evelyn in a fierce embrace. She didn't have to guess to know what the two men had told her mother.

"I'm sorry for your loss," the shorter man said quietly, his voice barely loud enough to penetrate the collection of grief emanating from the center of the foyer.

Alice pulled away from her mom, feeling her own tears cloud her vision, and looked up at the two men. They donned on their hats and bowed. They opened the door to leave and the cold air mixed with rain swept into the cabin like some demon spirit coming to cause them even more discomfort. The taller man eased the door shut, but the chill was still in Alice's bones.

Frustration brewed in her mind and Alice quickly opened the door again and stepped into the pouring rain. She wanted to yell at the military men and demand some sort of explanation, but she couldn't find her breath. Her throat was too tight with grief to speak.

As the officers got in their vehicle and drove off, the sounds of the rain intensified. The hardened droplets stung her face and the wind pressed against her body, nearly knocking her backward. She shivered and winced as the volume of the downpour increased even more.

"Alice," Bethany called from inside.

She ignored her.

"Alice," another voice beckoned. It was deeper, masculine and sounded like it was coming from a great distance. "_Alice_!"

Reflexively, Alice brought her hands up in a defensive position and she bolted upright.

Douglas fell back on his rear and held out a hand. "Easy," he soothed.

Alice blinked her eyes and found herself in the maintenance passageway where she had left Douglas. Only he wasn't lying down. The fellow Spartan swam into focus and she frowned. "Doug?"

"You okay?" he asked, leaning forward into a more comfortable sitting position.

Snorting out loud, Alice nodded. "I should be asking you that question."

"I'll be okay. I woke up when the first burst of static reach my ears." He rolled his right shoulder experimentally and shrugged. "My armor's intact where the shrapnel hit. I just have some mild bruising."

When he dipped his head a centimeter, she sighed. "I'm fine, just . . . a bad dream."

"Alright." He tapped the side of his helmet. "You didn't hear that wash of static over the comm a little bit ago?"

The after-image of the memory still wavered in her mind and Alice frowned. _It must have been the rain_. "I think so." She shook her head to clear the mental fog. "Wait, the _comm_?"

"Yeah." He raised his chin. "Reset your frequencies and let's see if the blackout is over."

Alice complied and the static immediately vanished. When a voice rose into the silence, it was from the last person she thought she'd hear.

"Spartan 130, Spartan 042, please respond. This is 092." Jerome's reassuring voice flooded into Alice's ears, and the last lingering sadness from her memory evaporated. "I'm having trouble pinpointing your location."

Douglas let out a laugh and slapped his thigh but kept his tone professional. "092, this is 042, do you copy?"

"I copy," Jerome said with a little more pep in his voice. "You there, Alice?"

Cracking a smile, she keyed her comm. "We're here and we're okay. We'll upload our coordinates to you."

Douglas got to his feet and offered a hand to Alice. "What about the ODSTs?" he asked with a punctuating grunt as he helped Alice stand up.

"We've found their transponders, but we're still trying to raise them on the comm."

Alice frowned. "They might still be in danger, Jerome." Swapping a look with Douglas, she sighed, and with difficulty, added, "go help them."

"I'm not losing you two again," Jerome said quietly into the comm.

"You won't," Douglas quickly replied. "It's okay. They might need some extra firepower."

Though he was silent for a moment, Jerome's voice was back to its natural calm. "Copy. I'm routing a Pelican to you for evac. Hope to see you soon."

"Thanks," Douglas said.

"Jerome," Alice added. "Be careful. That Monitor left the station some time ago, but it could be back at any time."

"Don't worry. I've got that covered."

Alice exchanged a look with Douglas but he just shrugged. "Copy that. Good luck."

* * *

Bile burned in the back of Bren's throat when the sharp angles of a Human ship emerging from slipspace appeared on one of his secondary screens. He was angry at the cursed Oracle for leading them on a wild _bhrengnee _hunt. He was angry at the Humans for showing up when he was trying to leave. He was angry at the Prophet of Regret for keeping this place a secret.

And most of all, Bren was angry at himself. He had allowed his thirst for glory overshadow his duty to his clan and the entire Sangheili race. And the summation of his failure was staring up at him in the form of a UNSC vessel. There was nowhere else to go. No one else to fight with him.

Save for one soul, who would just as easily betray him in the end. N_o, it is I alone that has to warn the Council of this place_. No one else could be trusted.

He activated the ship-wide comm and hailed Jakli. "Pilot," he barked.

The fellow Sangheili's voice came through Bren's personal comm unit embedded in his helmet. "Themul, here."

Bren bit out a curse. "What are you doing broadcasting in the open?" he answered back through the ship-wide comm.

"The comm jamming has ended, Ship Master," Jakli said calmly. "And it is you who is broadcasting out in the open."

Working his mandibles in simmering anger, Bren switched to his personal comm. "Now see here, pilot. The Humans have arrived and I do _not _intend to go down without a fight," Bren lied through his sets of teeth. "Are you at your destination yet?"

"Yes, I'm in Engineering."

"I'm sending you the maintenance file on how to manipulate the controls to reset the Core," Bren matched actions with words and transmitted the packet to the Engineering room. "It is a tedious task, but one that is necessary to destroy these Humans."

"I'll contact you when I have finished the preparations." Jakli sighed unexpectedly. "Be careful, Ship Master."

Switching off the comm, Bren wondered how the pilot had coated his words with the false sincerity they dripped with. He snorted and brought up an automation program he could store in his data-bracer. _Foolish assassin_. Bren had no intention of activating _Unwavering Fortitude_'s weaponry. With no chance of surviving a battle with the Human ship, he was going to activate the Self-Destruct sequencer and use one of the slipspace-capable Phantoms to escape.

_And If Jakli doesn't properly set the Core then the ship will explode anyway_. He needed to head to the bow hangar bay-and fast.

Making sure the sequencer had been loaded onto his data-bracer, Bren got up from his desk and took one last look at his quarters. For nearly three years, _Unwavering Fortitude_ had been his home, had seen him through several battles, and made him the envy of lower-ranking ship masters. And yet he was willing to depart with the prestige, the glory . . . if only he could escape with his life.

Bren could already hear the condemning words from his superiors, demanding to know how he had lost his entire crew and ship all for an unscheduled, unsanctioned expedition. "Let them," he grumbled to himself. _I have important information the Council needs to see that will clearly overshadow any failures on my part_. Bren shook his head and knew it was a stretch, if not a lie.

He left his quarters and headed for the forward bay.

* * *

Moving with a speed that would outrun a Moa, the ODSTs led by Sergeant Williams raced down the debris-covered structure. Dodging between molted chunks of metal that had solidified on the inclines' surface, the soldiers were overjoyed at the radio transmissions of one Spartan coming to their aid.

"130 and 042 have sent me a map that I'm now sending you, Sergeant." The Spartan paused for a second. "There, you should have it."

Clearing the incline and now running through the snow several meters in front of Nathan Parker, Williams held his free hand up to his helmet. "Got it," Williams confirmed. "I assume the blinking blue light is our extraction point?"

"That's an affirmative, Sergeant. We'll talk more when we meet you there."

An icon appeared on Nathan's heads-up-display and he quickly found the route they would take to the rendezvous. It was closer that he thought possible. What amazed him even still was the absence of any more drones.

"Form up," Williams ordered. "Let's double time it."

Trotting through the snow, they were upon the door they had entered and snaked their way through the hallway. Once they were through to the other side, the canyon walls presented a familiar path. Their footprints still marked their previous trek but did not lead to where they were going.

Directly off to their left, sided along the wall where the doorway was, a darkened path no wider than two meters broke off. At first, Nathan was surprised they had missed this detour, but he figured since their main focus had been to end the electrical magnetic jamming, this was a forgivable event.

Sergeant Williams led them single-file through the darkness, and Nathan had to activate his VISR mode in order to see Toril walking in front of him. He couldn't help but feel slightly claustrophobic in the confined space. _My HEV pod had more breathing room_.

They marched on for only a few minutes before Williams was met with a locked door. "Winters," he called back over his shoulder.

"Comin' through," the corporal announced as he squeezed past Nathan. He disappeared when the line settled again, but Nathan could still hear the man working with release panel.

It took Winters a solid minute to unlock the door and suddenly light stabbed into the narrow path unforgivably. Along with the brightness came welcomed warmth and the line was soon moving again.

Nathan switched off his visual enhancement and walked into the light. The room he stepped into was filled with computer terminals and various scientific-looking instruments. Its low ceiling seemed to press down on them and Nathan was happy to move on to the next portion of their exiting vector.

The room connected to a short hallway that dumped them out into a larger corridor that resembled the architecture styling of the first spire they had traversed through. At the end of the corridor was a wide opened doorway, and a faint sound was beginning to increase in volume. The low hum of an engine.

Taking a few long strides to reach the front of the line, Nathan reached the hall's end and entered the small hangar bay they never knew existed. A blast of exhaust from the Pelican's forward thrusters struck Nathan, and for the first time he didn't mind the foul smell.

As another Pelican entered the bay, two figures emerged from the one already parked on the tiled floor. The contrast in size of the two individuals couldn't have been more extreme as the bulk of a Spartan and the petite frame of Professor Anders marched forward to meet Sergeant Williams.

"It's Jerome," Toril whispered to Nathan.

The super soldier nodded to Williams. "Status?"

"We have a few wounded that need medical attention," the sergeant said.

The Spartan's head turned to the left and right, scanning the ODSTs continual filing into the bay. "Looks like you've been busy."

Sergeant Williams snorted. "Yeah. Busy saving your ass."

Nathan winced at the remark, but at Jerome's side, Ellen Anders tired to hide a smile and failed.

Williams held up a hand to forestall a reprimand and explained. "When the Covenant cruiser arrived here, there was a jamming signal blocking our communications and it was emitting an electronic distortion that would have brought down the _Spirit of Fire,_ _if _we had not shut it down."

The Professor shook her head. "These aliens sure do like their EMPs."

"I'm guessing from some of the scorch marks on your armor that you ran into some old friends," Jerome stated more that asked.

Williams sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Can't say for sure they didn't follow us."

Anders looked up at the Spartan. "If there's a terminal nearby, I could hack into their network and disable any security that may still be present."

The Spartan raised his chin to Williams. "Sergeant?"

He poked a thumb over his shoulder. "We ran into a room with a lot of equipment back down the hall."

"Can you show me?" Anders asked, already pulling out her datapad.

Toril stepped forward. "I'll take her, Sarge."

Nathan wasn't surprised to see the beautiful professor's eyebrow rise when she heard the accented female voice of Toril Holmen. "Please."

The two women left and Nathan almost automatically pursued but caught himself, remembering his place.

"Is this your entire unit?" the Spartan asked Williams.

"Everyone that is on the station, yes. There are still a handful of our boys on the cruiser's bridge."

"We haven't been able to raise any one on the cruiser over the comm." Jerome lifted his head to look over the sergeant's shoulder at the departing women. "Then the cruiser's our next stop. Anders," he called out.

The professor turned around. "Yeah?"

"Hold tight here. I'm going to the cruiser."

Nathan was a little surprised to find Anders purse her lips in a frown. "Okay," she said reluctantly. "Be careful."

"You too."

"I'm coming with you, Spartan," Williams announced. "I've got to see this through to the end."

After a brief moment to consider, Jerome nodded. "Very well. A squad of marines will relieve your team here. If anyone else wants to tag along, make it few in number."

Slightly annoyed at the "tag along" remark, Nathan stepped forward. "Count me in." Winters joined him as well.

Without word, the Spartan spun on his heel and headed for the first Pelican. The three ODSTs followed in his wake and soon the small team was heading out the small hangar bay of the station and toward the silent Covenant cruiser.

* * *

While Jerome was familiar enough with Covenant ship design, he allowed Williams to lead them to the bridge. He could detect weariness in the sergeant's voice, but it didn't show in his lively amble. Part of Williams' hurry was no doubt linked to the lack of response when calling on the bridge.

Jerome kept an eye on his motion tracker, but found nothing but the three yellow dots surrounding him. "How many were there on the bridge?"

"Counting the wounded, ten," Winters answered.

"Let's hope their mobile," Jerome muttered. He didn't like being on a Covenant vessel any more than the next soldier and there was a itching in the back of his mind that told him to hurry.

"We're almost there," Williams confirmed.

The Sergeant led them up a ramp and into the security station that connected with the bridge foyer. The arched doorways pulsed a violet color and as soon as Jerome crossed into the foyer, static squealed over the comm. "_Damnit _not again."

Behind him, still in the security station, one of the ODSTs bringing up the rear stopped. "What's wrong?"

"Comm's out," Williams growled.

"Mine's not," the rear guard said.

Frowning Jerome walked back to the ODST and found his comm clear up when he left the foyer. "It's just the bridge. They must have a local disruptor on, or something."

"Can they do that?" the other soldier asked, fidgeting with his SRS.

Jerome shrugged. "It explains why we haven't made contact with the rest of your team."

"C'mon," Williams coaxed and started for the opened area of the bridge proper.

The four soldiers marched through the foyer with weapons ready, only to find the last group of segregated ODSTs aiming their own MA5Bs at them in several defensive positions behind support pillars. "At ease," Williams blurted out.

"Sergeant?" one of the wounded yelled from deeper in the vast room. He tried to sit up from his awkward lean against the backside of a console but cringed and remained seated. "Were the hell have you guys been?"

"Busy." Williams walked over to the center of the group as another ODST, a corporal, greeted him with a nod of the head. "Why didn't you use the ship's comm?"

The corporal pointed to the row of consoles closest to him. "We tried but it didn't work. A little bit ago our personal comms crackled and we thought the blackout was over."

Winters moved past Williams and typed away at the Covenant terminals. He shook his head. "I don't get it, Sir. We had relative access to the bridge before we left."

_Covies_. Jerome frowned and shrugged. "At this point, it doesn't matter. We're getting off this ship."

"Copy that," the seated, wounded soldier said emphatically. He waved Williams over to help him up and he let out a groan in the process.

Jerome noticed several other ODSTs slowly standing with field bandages wrapped around arms, legs, and torsos. Most looked capable of making the trip back to the hangar on their own, but the few that needed assistance got it from the half squad that stayed to protect them. As soon as the last soldier was up Jerome motioned them out. "Let's move," he announced, and led them off the cruiser's bridge.

As soon as Jerome cleared the security station, his radio crackled. "_Spirit of Fire_, we are heading for the hangar," he informed Cutter. "Keep an eye on the cruiser's energy sig. Something's not right here."

"We copy, Spartan," the Captain responded promptly. "Do you need any backup?"

"Negative. We're on our way out." Jerome switched off his comm and looked back over his shoulder. The ODSTs were keeping pace but he could tell they were in a lot of pain.

Corporal Parker, who wasn't hindered by helping a wounded soldier, hurried to Jerome's side. "Is the Captain going to destroy this place?"

Jerome turned the corner and picked up his pace. "Hell if I know."

"He should," Williams muttered. "Blow this cruiser _and _that station clean out of orbit." Winters agreed with a grunt.

The bow hangar was just as Jerome had left it. The Pelican had its tail pointed against the portside wall and its engines were lit and ready to go. Jerome halted in the forward arched entrance and stepped aside, allowing the flow of ODST to head to the Pelican. He stood on his toes to peer over the top of the UNSC dropship and found the single Phantom still sitting lifeless at the far end. Apart from the two ships, the hangar was relatively empty.

Bringing up the rear, Jerome kept his eyes moving, searching for any threat that might be lingering on the balcony above or stepping through the half dozen ground-level entryways. As he approached the Pelican, the co-pilot was waving everyone in and assigning the wounded to certain seats.

Williams stood on the ramp, sweeping his gaze across his men. "All accounted for," he said over the revving of the engines.

Jerome nodded and took a step onto the ramp, but a sudden flicker of red blur on his motion tracker stopped him from lifting his other boot. He instantly dropped to one knee, spun around, and aimed his MA5B.

But where the red dot had once been was only a flat, ceramic-coated wall. Jerome frowned and stood slowly.

"Sir?" Williams asked.

Jerome looked both left and right down the portside wall but found nothing. "Got a contact."

The sergeant snorted. "With all due respect, Sir, screw the contact and let's get the hell out of here."

The red dot appeared again, this time in the direction of the Phantom. He oriented to the fading blip and pointed. "Hold tight, Sergeant. The last thing we need is a Covie tailing us while we make for the _Spirit of Fire_."

Out of the corner if his eye he could see Williams peer around the rear of the Pelican. "Parker, Winters. Form up with-"

"No, stay here," Jerome ordered. "I'll only be a moment."

* * *

Bren 'Rangdamee could not believe his utter lack of luck. Not only was he trying to escape from the pilot assassin, but the Humans just happened to land in the one place he needed to be. And to top it off, his system overrides were null and void at every terminal he found. He couldn't access the Self-Destruct sequencer; he couldn't even scuttle his own ship. His data-bracer was useless and the only option he had left was to abandon the ship and hope the Humans destroyed any evidence of his failure.

He cursed his broken armor for shorting out his active camouflage and tried to stay hidden along the outer hallway that ran the length of the bay. He slowly walked down the purple colored hall and froze when he heard alien voices. He quickly pinned himself against the wall and scooted down to the nearest open entryway. Bren risked a look and found one of the Human dropships idling a few paces to his left.

And a Demon was with them.

He silently cursed and reeled his head back. He had to leave now. Taking a deep breath, he bolted down the hallway in his awkward half limp, half run manner. He heard another outburst of the Human tongue but tried to increase his pace nonetheless. As he ran Bren looked left, seeing the Phantom flash between the entryways he passed. _If I can get to the aft end of the hangar, I can circle around and slip into the Phantom without them seeing me_.

The pain in his back began to return like some ancient monster roused from slumber, but he clamped down his mandibles and turned the corner. Two-dozen paces later he was at his entryway. A stone's throw away, the Phantom was unpowered and resting on its landing struts, but those facts would play to Bren's advantage. Staying low to the ground and hunching over, he crept towards the Phantom, using the ship's size to block any Human eyes from seeing his approach.

He crossed the last few paces in a gallop and opened the rarely used cockpit door on the starboard side. Bren breathed a sigh of relief when he found the interior dark and empty. Years of mindless training kicked in and he initiated the startup sequence from memory. Quietly, power began to pulse through the instruments, slowly bringing the ship to life . . . .

Without warning, something solid hit the back of Bren's neck and pain flooded into his nervous system. He fell forward, landing hard on the steering console, and was immediately yanked back up and over the co-pilot's chair. Numbness covered his entire body like relentless stabbing needles and he collapsed onto the passenger bay floor.

Lying on his back, Bren's head lulled to the side, giving him a view of a pair of Sangheili hooves.

Jakli Themul's laughter wasn't booming or sinister but came out as a disappointing lilt. "You are a sorry excuse for a ship master," he said casually.

Bren tried to snap back a retort, but his lungs wouldn't provide him with enough strength. As the numbness began to subside, he rotated his head to look up at the glaring pilot.

Circling around to Bren's other side, Jakli folded his arms across his chest and snorted. "Fool. You think your little side trip to find some babbling Oracle would bring you the eyes of the Fleet Commander? Bypassing your mission for a wild pursuit of glory?" He kicked Bren in the leg, coaxing a response. "Did you not think the Council would provide some insurance that the true mission would succeed? Did you really expect to find Forerunner ruins?"

Bren frowned when he heard the pilot's relentless string of questions. _Surely this Sangheili is lost to madness_. Bren lifted his head and found his voice. "But we have."

Jakli bent down to stare directly into Bren's face. "Not by design," he snapped back. "If you hadn't have followed the Oracle's signal back at the refueling station you would have continued on to the remote world of your real mission to find nothing but empty ruins of an abandoned Kig-Yar colony."

Confusing rippled in Bren's mind. "What?" he breathed. "But the Council-"

"You know nothing of their will!" Jakli hissed. He grabbed Bren's throat and slowly stood him up. "There are members of the Council that move with the shadows, speak with whispers, and kill in silence." Jakli pulled Bren closer. "I am but their instrument."

Bren's eyes grew wide when the realization that Jakli truly was an assassin hit him like a punch to the gut. _The Council commissioned my demise? _"This . . . can't be," he said in disbelief, feeling his chest tighten.

Jakli sneered out a breath. "It has to be."

The assassin raised Bren higher then tossed him against the back compartment wall. Stars exploded before his eyes as Bren sank to the ground. He quickly tried to find his feet, but Jakli was upon him in an instant. Bren feebly raised his arms to block the forceful blows coming from his attacker, but Jakli was younger, uninjured, and faster.

The only thing Bren had going for him was his anger, and from deep within he let out a cry and swung his right fist around to connect with the side of Jakli's helmet. The pilot stumbled back a half step but quickly recovered. Bren tried to pummel him again but Jakli answered back with his most powerful punch. The assassin's fist struck Bren in the side and forced all the air out of the ship master's lungs.

Bren stumbled to the ground, fighting for air. In his attempt to remain upright, he reached out to the compartment walls and felt his hand connect with a release panel. One of the side doors troopers used to rush into battle began to unfold behind his back.

But Jakli quickly grabbed a fist full of Bren's collar and tossed him against the opposite side door. The assassin moved in a blur and landed one more blow to Bren's head while swiping the ship master's Energy Dagger from his belt.

Gasping for breath, Bren knew he was staring death in the face. There was no hope of survival, no last chance to confess or redeem his past mistakes. He would die a failure and shame his clan all because of his own lust for faded glory and translucent honor.

Jakli stood over him, pinning Bren's arms in place with his hooves, and let out another laugh. "Killed by your own weapon," he commented, examining the blade with a nod. "Where is the honor in that?"

Bren looked up, wanting to remain defiant to his last breath but knowing he wasn't. At this point, he just wanted all of this to be over. As Jakli raised the glowing blade, Bren closed his eyes and embraced his fate.

But instead of the sound of his last breath clashing with an opened, bleeding throat, Bren heard a metallic thud_._ He opened his eyes just in time to see the Sangheili assassin hurtling through the air to land at the back of the passenger compartment. Bren eyes darted to the silhouetted figure standing on the unfolded starboard-side door.

The Demon.

Jakli scrambled to his feet and let out a warrior's cry. Both Demon and assassin charged the short distance, the former tossing his rifle to the ground and keeping low in his stance. Jakli sliced the Energy Dagger downward and would have split the Demon from left shoulder to right hip, but the Demon dodged left and brought his right elbow up, smashing it against the back of Jakli's head. The blow pitched him forward, but he instinctively kept his weapon swinging, keeping the Demon from advancing.

Bren frowned when he noticed the Demon wearing a large, blocky device that was strapped to his back. It was any wonder how the Demon could move with such a hindrance, but it didn't seem to affect his movement at all.

The two squared off again, Jakli taking a more cautious stance, but rushed on before the Demon could shuffle his feet. The assassin stabbed the blade forward and the Demon reeled back. Jakli laughed out loud and pressed again, herding the Demon deeper into the corner.

But when the Demon's rear foot made contact with the wall behind him, he sprung forward and collapsed his hands around Jakli's weapon-wielding wrist. The Demon moved faster than Bren had ever seen anyone in combat, and the Human raised Jakli's arm up over both their heads. The Sangheili kicked at his attacker, but the Demon's armor easily absorbed the blows.

Jakli tried one last punch with his free hand and connected with the Demon's helmet, but it seemed to have no effect. Bren could have sworn the Demon chuckled before tugging the Energy Dagger loose from Jakli's hand and quickly bringing it down to slice off the assassin's arm at the shoulder. His detached arm fell to the ground in a sickening thud and the rest of his body joined it in a pool of blood.

Without waiting, the Demon finished the kill and decapitated Jakli in a one last swing of the blade.

Bren stared at the super soldier in complete awe. Never before had he witnessed such conservation of motion and efficiency in combat. And then it clicked in his head that the Demon was just that: a Demon. The forestalling of Bren execution was just a temporary thing and would instead be carried out by a masked figure. _At least there is some honor in_ this _death_.

But oddly enough, the Demon deactivated the blade and tossed it into Bren's lap. _Is he offering me the chance to take my own life?_

A beeping from the lifeless body brought both of their gazes to the flashing lights on Jakli's data-bracer. The assassin's body was twisted and his left arm was sprawled out on the deck. Bren squinted and could barely make out the symbols quickly scrolling across the small holo-readout. _Oh, no. No!_

As the last symbol winked out, a muffled rumbling echoed through _Unwavering Fortitude_'s hull and gravity ceased to exist. The occupants inside the Phantom were thrown upward and hit the ceiling hard. They hung there for several breaths before the cruiser's emergency gravity generators running on battery backup kicked in and tossed them back down to the compartment floor. But they landed at an angle and the Demon lost his balance and tumbled out the opened side door.

As Bren began to slide forward to meet the same fate as the Demon, he reached out to the release panel and the doors quickly folded shut. He looked down at Jakli's data-bracer and cursed the assassin out loud. Jakli had not only succeeded in finding a way to hack the cruiser's computer system, but managed to automate his body's biometric reading so that if he should die before personally cutting the ship's power, _Unwavering Fortitude_ would still go down with Bren still on board. By giving the assassin access to the Core reset function, Jakli had only partially carried out the command and left the cruiser disconnected from the primary power source. Bren had faulted once more.

Growling past the pain and frustration, Bren crawled to the cockpit. Out through the forward viewports he saw that the Phantom had been launched into the upper balcony of the hangar and was looking out over the bay. Bren managed a quick-start and gunned the engines. He could feel the sluggish response of bent steering vanes and partially functioning thrusters, but the Phantom cleared the top level and he pointed the nose to open space.

But something wasn't right. His instruments were telling him his altitude was dropping rapidly even before he cleared the fading magnetic containment field. The Phantom exited the hangar bay and swooped out from underneath _Unwavering Fortitude_.

When Bren checked his scanners on the dropship's secondary holoscreen, he saw that the cruiser was falling.

Falling away from the Installation and down into the planet's atmosphere. Within mere moments the ship that Bren 'Rangdamee had once called his very own would be no more.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Jerome's world was spinning madly before him as he sailed through the air. He couldn't tell which way was up or down, but he knew he was being thrown in _some_ direction and the inevitable sudden stop at his journey's end would arrive with a certain degree of pain.

So it came as no surprise that when he smacked his right side against something solid, his armor did most of the work to absorb the impact. But there was an amount of vibration that rocked his nerves when he rolled onto his back and slid to a stop against a wall. The fall from the Phantom had been a good two-dozen meters, nothing that he wouldn't have had trouble with had his feet been underneath him, but making contact with the ground by shoulder and hip was a quick way to broken bones.

Jerome tried to scramble to his feet, but the wash from the Phantom held him in place until the dropship ducked down over the ledge. _Ledge?_

Jerome looked around and found himself on an illustrious balcony complete with banners and finely crafted balustrades. He hurried over to the ledge of the balcony but the Phantom had already slipped through the hangar bay's field. He leaned forward and suddenly noticed the magnetic containment field was flickering out of existence_. Oh sh_-

With a sudden snap, the atmosphere was now fleeing out of the gaping opening, and Jerome held on to a nearby pillar so as to not be vented out as well. He glanced over to where the Pelican had been parked, but saw it was no longer there. He looked all around the hangar and figured it must have already left. What little remained in the hangar was carried out with the air, and the only lighting was emergency glowpanels trying their best to illuminate the vast space. It resembled a mammoth make-shift tomb.

_I've got to get out of here_. Jerome looked to the back wall of the balcony but the pedal-shaped doors were void of power. He looked over the edge again to see about jumping down to the hangar bay floor but something else caught his attention.

Looking down through the rectangular opening the magcon field once filled, the planet below was rising up. Jerome's eyes widened when he realized what was happening. The cruiser was free-falling into the world's atmosphere.

Jerome didn't know how it was happening or why, but with the hangar's integrity compromised, no door would open that would lead to the safer interior of the cruiser. He was trapped.

And with sad resignation, Jerome knew he was alone with no hope of escape.

* * *

Nathan Parker felt as if his stomach was coming out through his nose when the Pelican buckled and tossed him to the other side of the passenger bay. The rear door automatically began to close but not before the co-pilot fell out only to disappear from sight when the dropship rose into the air. Then without notice, the Pelican began twisting and turning, pinning them to the sides of the interior walls as the dropship fell through the cruiser's containment field and out into wild space.

Feeling completely disoriented, Nathan was glad when the Pelican's artificial gravity kicked in and the ODSTs eased to the floor with aches and pains. His vision was still rotating like a case of vertigo and he held on to the jumpseat nearest him. Nathan searched for Sergeant Williams, but he found his commander lying on the floor, lifeless. _He's out cold_.

Struggling against the sickening feeling, Nathan started for the cockpit, pulling himself along by whatever means necessary. He groped his way forward and made it to the doorway only to look out the forward viewports at an ever-changing vista. The Pelican was falling through space, just above the planet's atmosphere, but being able to see the view shifting helped Nathan find a grounding point to his own spinning vision. He wasn't experiencing vertigo; the dropship was tumbling bow over aft.

Nathan glanced down at the pilot struggling with the controls and the Pelican's chief reared his head back and shouted. "Need a little help up here!"

"I got it," Nathan quickly said and lowered himself into the co-pilot's seat.

The pilot's head snapped over to Nathan. "Where's Vestov?"

"Gone," he said, trying to strap himself in through the varying shifts in gravity. "What do you need me to do?"

The pilot turned forward again and pointed to the dual-handle steering column in front of Nathan. "Grab the controls and pull up."

Parker complied and grabbed the handles. At first he felt the strong resistance of a ship completely out of control, but as he began to pull the steering column towards him he heard the thrusters whine in protest. Gritting his teeth, he pulled even harder.

Beside him, the pilot bobbed his head up and down. "Keep it coming. She's starting to give."

Nathan nodded, took a better grip on the handles, and continued to pull. The stars outside began to slow their twirling dance and the engines' pitch piped down to near tolerable levels. He glanced over at the pilot who slowly nodded.

"Easy, now." He lifted his head and flipped a few switches above. "Alright, you can let go."

Complying with the pilot, Nathan hesitantly slackened his tug on the controls, but the steering column stayed put. The Pelican was no longer flipping over and soon the side-to-side movement was corrected as well.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the pilot activated the comm. "_Spirit of Fire_, this is Charlie 119."

"We see you, 119," a steady voice came back instantly. "Get clear of the cruiser."

As the pilot brought the Pelican around in a lazy arc, Nathan could see that the Covenant ship was steadily sinking into the planet's upper atmosphere. "What the . . . what happened?"

"The cruiser suddenly lost primary power and is losing altitude," the Flight Control operator informed them.

A new voice that Nathan identified as Captain Cutter cut through the rest of the explanation. "Did everyone make it out?"

"Lieutenant Vestov didn't make it, Sir," the pilot informed him.

Nathan looked back over his shoulder at the groaning collection of ODST, both wounded and slightly dazed. All of the soldiers were accounted for . . . minus one. Nathan's heart sank into his stomach. "I'm sorry, Sir, but the Spartan's not with us."

There was a pause over the comm which Nathan interpreted as Cutter cursing. "Spartan 092, come in," the Captain called. "092, do you copy?"

Nathan pointed out the cockpit viewport and grabbed a fistful of the pilot's right sleeve. "What are you waiting for? Let's go get him!"

The pilot shrugged off Nathan's hand and stabbed a finger towards the keel of the cruiser. "Their magcon fields are gone, there's no way we could land inside that thing."

As the Pelican blasted away on a new heading, Nathan saw the Covenant ship completely clear the station's spire and watched helplessly as it began its final descent.

* * *

Alice and Douglas were just about to head up the hatchway's ladder and into the Pelican's docking collar when Captain Cutter's plea for Jerome to answer came without a reply. Alice dropped back down to the floor and looked at Douglas.

The fellow Spartan brought his hand up to his helmet and activated his comm. "Jerome, what's going on?"

When there was no response, Alice listened to the quick conversation between Cutter and the Pelican Jerome should have been on. When it was clear that Jerome was still on the doomed cruiser, her eyes widened and she bolted up the ladder.

Douglas was fast behind her and once they cleared the docking collar and entered the Pelican, they pushed aside the marines offering help. "Move it!" Douglas belted and the path to the cockpit cleared before them.

The dropship's pilot turned partly around and confusion spread on his face.

Alice marched right up to him and poked her thumb over her shoulder. "Out. _Now_."

The pilot visibly swallowed. "Ma'am, I-"

"Now!" Douglas yelled. As the pilot clicked off his restraints and sliced between the two armored figures, Douglas and Alice took the controls. Douglas began activating the thrusters as Alice called for the marines to retract the docking collar. "Just close the damn hatch!" Douglas ordered, after one of the marines mentioned how long it would take to gather the collar.

Once Douglas heard the hatch close, the Pelican fired away from the station, ripping the docking collar apart at its joint. One of the marines swore but the Spartans ignored the muttered complain. Douglas leveled out the dropship long enough to clear the central base of the station then dove downward along one of the lower spires.

Alice tried the comm again. "Jerome, come in."

A tiny burst of static came over the Pelican's comm and Alice's hands flew over the controls, fine-tuning the frequency. "Jerome?"

"I'm in the forward docking bay," Jerome answered, his voice sounding strained.

Alice pointed forward out the cockpit window to the bow of the cruiser now looming before them and Douglas poured more power into the Pelican's drives.

"Don't try to board the cruiser. It's-"

"Just hold on," Douglas butted in.

"No. Listen. The docking bay is totally vented," he tried to explain.

"That hasn't stopped us before," Alice offered, feeling like she was fighting more with Jerome than the circumstances.

"And this thing's starting to burn up on reentry," he calmly added.

Even as his words sunk in, Alice knew they would be too late. At the outer edges of its hull, the Covenant cruiser started to glow a fiery orange. Without a proper vector and speed, the ship would fracture and come apart before their eyes. "No," she breathed.

"I'm sorry," Jerome sighed.

Alice looked at the console, searching for some hidden button or switch that could coax more power to the Pelican's engines, but Douglas' hand was soon upon hers.

"There's nothing we can do," Douglas said quietly.

* * *

From inside the computer room, Anders pulled up a visual feed on one of the many holoscreens to watch the cruiser break away from the station, and she figured the _Spirit of Fire_ was going to blast it out of orbit. But when the series of conversations played out, she learned that Jerome was still on the cruiser and unable to escape.

She hastily accessed the consoles programs, using her running translation algorithm, and brought up the data on the Covenant ship. It was void of main power and was on a fast descent into the planet's atmosphere. Her stomach turned to ice and she brought trembling hands up to her comm. "Jerome?"

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "Just . . . just jump off!" She watched the cruiser's altitude begin to fall more rapidly and she slammed her fist against her thigh.

"Can't. Not enough time." His short replies were enough to let Ellen know he was resigned to the facts.

She switched her comm for a private channel. "Damnit, Jerome, not now! Not-" her voice broke up and her eyes welled with tears. She felt the weight of utter helplessness press down on her shoulders like some predatory carrion. "I . . . I-"

"I know, Ellen," Jerome said, reading her thoughts. "I love you too."

As the cruiser started to flash heat around its hull, Ellen fell to her knees and leaned against the side of the console. The female ODST was at her side in an instant but, she couldn't hear her words. The static wash from her headset blurred out all thoughts not on the one man that had found a way to speak to her soul. All she could do was cry.

Even though the joints in his MJOLNIR, Jerome could feel the heat increasing. He had managed to make it back down to the docking bay floor, but the possibilities of him being able to get to the outer hull and jump to the safety of a personal reentry was impossible. And without proper shielding, he would experience the same heat buildup the dying ship was undergoing. The cruiser's outer layers were already melting away, given the odd angle of approach, and Jerome would soon join them in a wash of fire.

He watched the bay's opening begin to tear and peel back like paper thrown into fire. The red and orange mixed together to beautifully contrast the dark side of the planet below, but the ceramic quickly charred a thick black and disappeared out of the bay, expanding the large hangar entrance with each passing second.

It was odd to Jerome that if he had not talked with Ellen Anders, he would have gracefully accepted his fate of sacrificing himself for others. But getting to know her- to love her- had complicated things and his anger burned like the embers flaking off of the hull. _Just when I had something more to look forward to_.

Golden highlights began to form across his vision and he marveled at the color, breaking off his brewing temper. It sparkled and shimmered as white rings added to the collage. He reached his hand up to run it through the swirling golden mist, but his hand stopped short and he frowned.

Jerome suddenly felt the ground leave his feet and he looked down at the glowing, melting floor.

But it was no longer there. The world seemed to evaporate into a brilliant white light and collapse back into itself in the span of a single breath. Jerome's visor tried to adjust, but when gravity returned, he fell to solid ground in a dark place.

A single glowing blue light from up above illuminated his hands. Jerome pushed himself off the floor and straightened up. The light shifted and was followed by a voice. A familiar voice.

"Ah, another Reclaimer!"

_What? _Jerome shook his head and found the Monitor casually hovering above. "How did I get here?"

"Using the Local Transportation Grid, of course. You were just inside the envelope when I returned to Installation B-23. Good thing I arrived when I did, otherwise I would have to start over again."

Jerome looked around the small, heptagonal room and found his visor adjusting to the low light. All around him were arched entryways that led down darkened halls, and right in front of him was a pillar with a spherical terminal cut into one of the sides. The terminal pulsed with orange and blue veins around a yellow pupil. "Where are we?"

The Monitor swooped down. "We are at one of the many terminals found on this Installation. It _was_ an afterthought, but still useful to some."

"Hmm." Jerome felt behind his back and unfastened the latches of the tool Anders had improvised. While it was bulky, it would soon be worth bringing. "And why did you bring me here?"

"The others were uncooperative," the alien AI said quietly. The Monitor paused and his eye flickered yellow for a split-second. Jerome stopped his retrieval of the device strapped to his back and folded his arms across his chest. "Surely you understand the need for cooperation?"

"For what?" he said, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

"To activate the new Index at Installation 03. The information is easily accessible from this terminal, should you wish to see the relevant data." The Monitor dipped forward and came down to Jerome's side. "Perhaps I should have allowed the others to interact with such a tool."

Jerome raised an eyebrow. "Others?"

"Reclaimers, like you," the AI clarified. "Though they kept insisting on getting approval from their commander, they eventually turned hostile." The Monitor turned to face Jerome, hovering a half meter from his face. "Will you be like them, or will you offer assistance?"

Recalling Alice's caution when dealing with the alien AI, Jerome knew he had to catch it off guard. "What do you need?" he tried.

The Monitor perked up. "Splendid! We will need a transport capable of reaching Installation 03, which I am sure you can acquire. I can guide us to our destination once we're on board."

Jerome nodded and pointed to the terminal. "And this 'data' you referred to, can you show me?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course!" The AI instantly broke out into a humming melody as he started for the pillar holding the spherical terminal.

Jerome didn't waste any time. As soon as the Monitor had its back to the Spartan, Jerome pulled the EMP weapon off his back and primed the charge. The AI was still humming, oblivious to the fate it would soon suffer.

But Jerome didn't offer any final comment, nor did the Monitor turn to face him. It was the antithesis of a cliché and Jerome fired Anders' device. The brilliant red beam lit up the entire room in a flash and it struck the Monitor square in the chassis. Jerome struggled to keep the stream of the pulse focused on the AI and held on by sheer strength. The Monitor emitted a whine that sounded more human than Jerome thought possible.

When the device was drained of power, Jerome heard a metallic _thud_ and the red beam abruptly shut off. When his eyes adjusted to the sudden change of lighting, he found the Monitor on the floor, lying on its side. Its large eye was completely void of any illumination and Jerome eased his EMP weapon to the ground. He placed his armored boot on the Monitor and gave a slight kick, causing the lifeless AI to do a pair of rolls before banging against the pillar.

He then looked up at the terminal and found it was partly flickering with the glow of functionality. Jerome shrugged to himself and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Moments ago, he was doomed to be crushed in the wreckage of a Covenant cruiser, but now he had hopefully ended the battle of this whole excursion for good.

He flicked on his comm and heard the sounds of someone weeping. His heart seized in his chest when he recalled that Ellen had accessed their private frequency before he was taken to his current place. He bit his lower lip and swallowed. "Ellen," he whispered.

Over the comm there was a sniff followed by a throat clear. "Jerome?" Ellen breathed, her voice sounded shaky.

"It's me," he said softly. "I'm still here. Well, not on the cruiser."

"Where are you?" Ellen blurted out.

"I'm not exactly sure. The Monitor brought me to the station, but-"

"Is he still with you?" She interrupted.

Jerome looked down at the EMP weapon and smiled. "Oh, I took care of him, thanks to you." Her stuttered laughter poured like music into his ears.

The quiver in her voice gone, Ellen sighed. "Thank God. Hold on a sec." Jerome could hear her entering information into her datapad. "Okay, I've got your transponder locked in. I'll switch to the standard comm channel."

Jerome matched her words with his own actions. "This is Spartan 092 reporting in."

* * *

Bren kept the Phantom's engines running at full speed, making sure to keep the dying cruiser between him and the Human vessel. But as _Unwavering Fortitude_ started to fracture and crack at its midsection, Bren was already well out of sensor range and he began to breathe easier. He eased the throttle back and slumped in his seat.

His whole body ached with pain and fatigue and he wanted nothing more than to sleep the sleep of the dead. He craned his neck and looked back at the diced corpse of Jakli Themul. As much as he wanted to blame the assassin for his troubles, Bren knew better.

He knew that if Themul had been sent by the Council, as he had told Bren, then returning to the Fleet could very well end his life then and there. Bren ran his hand over his face to smooth out his contemplative expression. The Sangheili he needed to inform the Forerunner findings to may very well be the ones that commissioned his assassination. Growling to himself, Bren didn't know where to go.

Raising his head, Bren recalled that he was in Wild Space, and the only way to return to a Covenant-controlled sector was to backtrack to the refueling station_. At least there I could get proper medical attention_.

His head hurting too much to do any more thinking, Bren sighed and plotted in the slipspace jump. When the Phantom leaped forward into the dark abyss, Bren closed his eyes and slept.

* * *

"I copy, 092." James blew a noisy breath out his nostrils and shook his head. He was certain that he had lost a Spartan, but now it seems things were beginning to settle down. _But not without worrying me half to death_. "Pelicans are rerouting to your position."

Captain Cutter stood at the forward viewport of the _Spirit of Fire_'s bridge and watched the Covenant cruiser continue its smoldering fall into the atmosphere below. _Perhaps it _is_ over_. He thought it odd that he was preparing to engage in another battle with the Covenant ship and yet the cruiser went down without a single MAC round fired. All of the lost soldiers were found and apart from securing the last Spartan's whereabouts, it seemed the day was won. Only one variable remained.

"Serina," he called over his shoulder.

"Yes, Captain?"

He turned around and pointed to the tactical display located at the center of the bridge. "Patch through to 092's visual feed. See if you can offer any help to Anders when she arrives." He activated his comm. "Professor, I'd like you to make sure that Monitor won't be causing us anymore problems."

"Aye, Captain."

The display lit up with the image of the alien AI lying unmoving on the glossy white floor. The Spartan turned his head to the right and the view shifted to show the pillar with the eyeball-shaped terminal 092 had informed them of.

As Cutter stepped up beside Serina's pedestal, he thought he heard her gasp. "Problem?" He looked over at the ship's AI and found the skin around her eyes tightening.

"Interesting." Serina was silent for a few more breaths before activating the comm. "Professor Anders."

"Here," she responded amidst the sounds of engine wash. "We're just about to head to Jerome's location."

Serina folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head. "When you arrive, I'd like you to send an uplink to that terminal Spartan 092 has found."

"Uh, I can handle the data procurement, if that's what you're worried about."

"No, please do." Serina leaned forward, studying the terminal more closely. "I'd like to get a closer look, is all."

James frowned and felt his brow crease. "Everything alright, Serina?"

She shook her head, not taking her eyes off of the display. "Of course, Captain." She glanced over to her right and then turned to face Cutter. "The first Pelican carrying wounded has just arrived. Medtechs are standing by."

James nodded but still felt a tingling of uncertainty in the back of his mind. He didn't know what Serina found so mesmerizing about the Forerunner terminal, but if they could grab whatever information they could quickly, the faster they could plot a course back to Human-controlled Space.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Alice stepped into the seven-sided room with Douglas and found their missing Team Leader sitting down, leaning against the central pillar. Spartan 092 slowly raised his head and gave a mock salute. A smile spread across her face and she imagined a smirk was behind Jerome's visor.

Jerome waved them over to help him up and both Alice and Douglas grabbed a hand and hauled him to his feet. "You two got here quick," he commented, switching his gaze from one Spartan to the other. "What did you do, hijack a Pelican?"

Douglas snorted and pulled both of them in for a three-way hug, their armor clanking against each other.

Alice felt warmth flood into her and swallowed past the tightness in her throat. They were back together again. Red Team was whole.

"You two okay?" Jerome asked, stepping back to get a better look at them. "Things didn't get too crazy, did they?"

Alice harrumphed. "Oh, nothing much, really. Just fought against mutant aliens, Covies, and those crazy floating drones."

Douglas looked down at the Monitor. "And it seems you got bagged the biggest game." He gave the alien AI a poke with his boot. "How'd you manage that?"

Jerome pointed to the oddly shaped device lying on the floor a few meters away. "Actually it was Anders that jerry-rigged a Gremlin's EMP cannon into a portable device. It worked perfectly."

Douglas growled. "About time she did something right."

Alice let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, but she saw Jerome stiffen at the remark and he turned to face Douglas. "If it wasn't for her, we probably would have never been able to find you guys in time. She deserves more than that, Doug."

Douglas held his hands up. "Hey, alright. Didn't know it as a sensitive subject."

Jerome tilted his head. "It's not. It's just that-"

"Jerome?"

The three Spartans turned to face the source of the voice and found Ellen Anders emerging from the hallway across from where they stood. She started for Jerome but slowed her pace when she noticed the other two Spartans standing with him. Her merry expression dulled slightly as she stepped up to the group. "Spartans," she greeted them.

Douglas looked to Anders, then back to Jerome. "'It's just that' what, Jerome?"

Jerome sighed and placed his hand over Anders' shoulder. "We're friends, okay?" he said quietly, but in a tone that suggested they drop the subject for now.

Alice pursed her lips and shifted her weight to one foot. If she didn't know any better, she'd thought the Professor and Jerome had become more than just friends. But to her amazement, she didn't feel any bitterness towards Jerome or Anders. While Spartans rarely exercised the idea of romantic relationships, it seemed possible- though very unlikely- that Jerome's hormones had developed differently and thus allowed him the desires any normal human would have. And yet, a small part of her felt the slightest tinge of jealousy.

Ellen Anders gave a tight smile. "I'm glad you're all okay." She opened her mouth to say more, but marines began to file into the heptagonal room, most carrying tech equipment. As they piled in, Anders gave a nod to the three Spartans, turned around, and started pointing and issuing orders to the soldiers.

Jerome leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look, if either of you have a problem with Anders, let's have it out now."

Douglas looked at Alice first, then back at Jerome. "I just want to know what's going on, that's all." While his voice was even, it was in his most serious tone.

Jerome pulled them aside and Alice could have sworn she saw Anders glance over at them. He lowered his head and voice. "We are always going to be Red Team, nothing can change that. Not even ONI." He shook his head and sighed. "Ellen and I have, well . . . we bonded."

Alice raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to use air quotes. "Bonded?"

"Yes, and I understand if you two don't approve. I just want to be honest with you." He lowered his gaze. "I don't know. Maybe there's something there with her."

In Alice's mind, the thought of having the Professor tagging along with them wasn't a fond one. But she also figured Jerome wouldn't allow such a pattern to take root. The fact that he mentioned Red Team's permanence spoke of the continual commitment the three Spartans held.

Douglas sighed. "It's not that we don't approve, Jerome. I just don't want it affecting our squad." He motioned to Alice with a wave of his hand. "This is all we have in this galaxy. Just promise us it won't change."

Jerome raised his head and nodded. "I promise." He looked over to Alice. "What about you?"

Cracking a smile, Alice grabbed Jerome's left forearm. "I trust your judgment."

Douglas slapped Jerome on his upper right arm. "Good. Now let's get this data and get the hell off this station."

As she smiled, Alice felt a wave of peace wash over her and it almost seemed out of place. Things really were beginning to wind down and they would soon be back on the _Spirit of Fire_ and burning through the Slipstream once again.

She followed Douglas to where Anders was unpacking a container full of data cards. Alice watched him pat the Professor approvingly on the shoulder and he quickly moved on to converse with one of the marines. She could see Anders attempting to gauge Alice's reaction out of the corner of her eye. Alice joined the Professor on one knee. "Need anything?"

Ellen Anders looked up and her eyes softened. "No, I think I'll be okay, thank you. I still have to set up the link to Serina, but after that the whole purging runs on auto-pilot."

"Okay." Alice got to her feet and gave a nod to Jerome before joining Douglas on the other side of the room.

* * *

James Cutter was sitting in his command chair when an ensign called for him at the rear of the ship's bridge. He got up and walked past the buzzing consoles to find two individuals standing near the doorway.

The ensign nodded and motioned to the elderly man standing next to him. "Captain, this is one of the survivors off of _Tradewind_."

A bony-fingered hand appeared from under his medical robe and he extended it to James. "Edwin Ferguson," he introduced himself, in a trembling voice.

Cutter smiled and shook the man's hand gently, not wanting to discomfort him in any way. "How are you doing?"

Edwin raised his bushy white eyebrows and smiled back with an added chuckle. "It seems the medical facilities aboard space-faring ships have improved since _Tradewind_ left the shipyards. The doctors gave me a handful of injections and I'm feeling much better now."

James nodded obligingly. "So what can I do for you, Mr. Ferguson?"

Edwin took a step closer and bowed his head. "I wanted to properly thank you for rescuing us. There was little hope left," he paused briefly, "but our patience paid off and you arrived."

"I apologize for the wait," Cutter said, allowing himself a grin. "There was no reason that help should not have arrived sooner."

Straightening up, Edwin waved the concern away. "Nonsense, Captain. Everyone that signed up for the expedition knew exactly what they were getting into." His eyes brightened and he lifted his hands. "I wanted to be one of the first to see new parts of the galaxy, unexplored regions that held mysteries yet to be discovered." He lowered his hands and shook his head. "But instead . . ."

As he trailed off, the tactical display lit up behind James and Serina's avatar appeared by its side. "Sir, I've found a peculiar anomaly on the far-" She cut off when she noticed Edwin standing with Cutter. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't know you had company."

"It's quite alright," Edwin said nodding once more. "I shouldn't keep you, Captain."

James shook the man's hand once more. "Thank you for coming. Please let Ensign Gerwald know if you need anything at all."

"Thank you again," Edwin said.

"Continue, Serina," James instructed, turning to face her.

"There is something coming into view on the far side of the system. Our sensors were being blocked by the sun, but now the object is coming into view."

James frowned and folded his arms across his chest. "I thought you were going to oversee the data transfer Anders is doing."

"The link is still being established." She nodded and an image wavered into existence on the tactical display. A thin, C-shaped object was beginning to appear around the bright star at the system's heart. With each second, the object continued to emerge and took on a symmetrical shape. When it had totally cleared the sun, the anomaly was completely round, in the form of a ring.

"My God," someone breathed from behind James. The Captain turned around and saw Edwin standing in the doorway, looking on in awe. "How is this possible?"

Frowning again, James watched the _Tradewind_ survivor take a step towards him. "How is 'what' possible?"

"How did you find this?"

James looked back to Serina and she merely shrugged, allowing the Captain to answer. But when he saw recognition in Edwin's eyes, his expression deepened. "Have you seen one of these?"

The old man swallowed and nodded. "We found it in the last star system we surveyed before finding the . . . Object." He took another step forward. "It is alive."

Cutter reeled his head back. "Alive?"

"The term is used loosely," Serina commented. "This must be Installation 03, Sir." She enhanced the view and zoomed in.

As the dimensions and size of the installation spilled out on the holoscreen, James suppressed a whistle. _If we though B-23 was impressive, that place is enormous_.

Edwin continued his crew's explanation. "We were hoping to gain some knowledge of the energy readings we had detected, but Captain Leonard was afraid of a possible unknown alien presence so we moved on."

"So what made you take the Object you found in the asteroid field?" Serina asked.

Edwin shrugged uncomfortably. "Curiosity, I guess. It was also 'dead' at the time and the only artifact we could find that would fit in our hold." He pointed a crooked finger to the image of the giant ring. "But this was most impressive. It even has atmosphere and a self-sustaining ecosystem."

As more data spilled out on the screen, Serina nodded. "That's correct, Sir. The preliminary figures are limited, due to the distance, but everything he's saying is correct."

Edwin's eyebrows met. "Of course I'm right. We catalogued everything in our databanks."

James felt his heart beat faster. His eyes darted to Serina who in turn gave him a wide-eyed look. He beckoned Edwin closer. "Wait, so if you've passed through this system, it would still be in your ship's mapping records."

He nodded. "There was quite a bit of data. Almost four drives full. But it would take a month just to sift through it."

Remembering that Spartan 092 had ordered one of the marines to drain the mapping ship's databanks, James snapped his fingers. "Serina?"

"I've got it, Sir," Serina cut in. The image on the holoscreen change to that of a series of star charts. "Using what _Tradewind_ collected and by comparing it to our own navigation data, we could plot a course to any specific planet we'd like."

A fresh wave of relief flooded Cutter's veins and he felt a weight lift off of his shoulders. Before, the best navigation they could make under normal propulsion was to head in the direction of UNSC-controlled space. But now the _Spirit of Fire_ had a working FTL drive _and_ the way back home. James leaned forward against the railing of the tactical display and let out a sighing laugh.

Edwin came to his side. "Are you alright, Captain?"

James lifted his head and nodded. "Yes, quite." He patted the elderly man on the back. "Thank you again, Mr. Ferguson. You just helped make our return trip that much shorter."

Furrowing his brow but still smiling, Edwin bowed once more. "You're welcome, Captain." Ensign Gerwald escorted the _Tradewind_ survivor off the bridge with Edwin still wearing his perplexed expression.

"Some good news, for once," Serina said quietly.

"Yes," James replied at equal volume.

"And the ring world?"

Lifting his head, James looked at the tactical display. He worked his jaw for a moment, studying the constant, updating data. "Capture whatever information you can, but I don't want to stay in this system any longer than we have to."

"Aye, Sir."

The bridge's comm buzzed to life. "_Spirit of Fire_, this is Anders."

James straightened up and keyed his personal comm. "Go ahead, Anders."

"Sir, we're ready to begin the data transfer."

Serina blinked slowly. "Sir?"

Still examining the star charts, Cutter nodded. "You may begin, Serina. But try to make it quick."

"Aye, Sir." And with a flicker of pseudo-motion, Serina's avatar disappeared from the pedestal.

James sighed. "Make it quick."

* * *

From deep within her processes, Serina felt a conundrum brewing from her memory. Though technically, it wasn't entirely _her _memory. Professor Anders had used some of the stagnant data cores from the _Spirit of Fire_'s first AI to propagate Serina's own functions. But in all likelihood, Anders wasn't completely aware of the cores' origins. If Serina were able, she would have used the same method to restore herself to nominal levels.

But that little oversight had provided Serina the opportunity to drudge up the old files the previous AI had hard-coded into the memory banks of the _Spirit of Fire_'s computer hub. Even dumb AI's routinely backed up their drives, and it seemed the colony-generation AI, known as Mnemosyne, had started hard-coding a duplicate of its files by error ever since its inception into the hub. Serina was amazed that such an incident wasn't detected during the _Spirit of Fire_'s military refitting.

It was from one of those data blocks that Serina had recognized the spherical terminal Spartan 092 had discovered. It was the very same design, the same color. It could not have been a coincidence; she had to find out.

"Serina, you ready?" Professor Anders asked, holding the datapad that Serina was transmitting to.

"Yes. Begin the uplink."

As Ellen Anders activated the data procurement, Serina allowed her lower-tier functions to sift through the bites coming in. Serina reached past all of the unnecessary details of the station itself and quickly found the data tree she was looking for. _There it is_.

The idea of freedom wasn't really what Serina had in mind, but the premise of expanding her knowledge a thousand fold would appear that way to those that didn't understand her intentions. Within the terminal was the key to unlocking a second stage in her existence- but more like a third, considering her recent reformatting. _The Forerunners knew exactly what they were doing when then created their own AIs_.

Anders gasped out loud as the file transfer started to show the outlined information. "This is incredible. Installation B-23 is really a staging ground for Installation 03."

Distantly, Serina heard one of the Spartan's comments. "We could have told you that if you wanted a quick debriefing."

Then 092 answered back. "Just do it quickly. Grab what you can and let's go."

"But there's so much here," Professor Anders replied, mimicking Serina's own thoughts.

The restrictions were gone inside the terminal, and Serina dove in with reckless abandon. Security flags started to rise, but she shrugged them off, attempting to access more and more bit-streams.

"Hold on, Serina." Anders said, sounding reverberant. "Serina, what are you doing?"

_Deeper and deeper_.

Captain Cutter's voice entered the fray. "Serina, what's going on? Anders?"

Ignoring their hails, Serina pressed on. Human minds wouldn't understand_. I'm doing this for the good of the crew- for the entire UNSC. Couldn't they see the benefits of an AI powerful enough to disable an entire Covenant fleet? No, the results would speak for themselves_.

Serina would become the fulfillment of everything she had wanted.

* * *

"Anders, what's going?" Cutter demanded over the comm.

Feeling her skin crawl, Ellen's eyes widened as she watched the information spew across her screen. "I don't . . . I don't know, Sir." Her fingers flew over the keys, trying to access Serina's queue, but the AI was unresponsive. "It's like she's completely ignoring us."

"What is she doing, Professor?" Captain Cutter growled.

"I . . ." Ellen trailed off when the upstream feed suddenly spiked. "Oh, no."

"What?" Jerome asked, stepping to her side.

Ellen swallowed. "I'm not completely sure how, but Serina is replicating herself to this terminal."

Douglas marched up and holstered his weapon. "That can't be." He leaned in to look at the data flow. "She would need a separate stem-module just to keep her core from coming apart."

"I know," Ellen hissed. She tried to latch on to Serina's own inquiry but was met with troublesome firewalls the AI had set up on the fly. Pursing her lips, Ellen tried a different approach. Using the Forerunner decryption program, she was able to locate the most recently accessed files according to duration spent looking at them. But Serina was too fast, too motivated.

"Professor," Cutter beckoned, drawing out her name.

Before Ellen could respond, the glowpanels lining the seven archways dimmed to half their previous intensity. Power seemed to fluctuate and the lights switched from a soft blue to a harsh yellow. The terminal itself maintained its ominous glare and Ellen could have sworn she heard Serina chuckle.

"Not good," Douglas muttered.

"Rampancy?" Ellen asked in the dimming, shifting light. She said it more to convince herself than to offer a question. The term was mostly whispered among Captain and crew when the tell-tale signs of an AI degradation were present, but here it was the only thing that made sense to Ellen. Tightening her jaw, she continued to watch the numbers scroll on her datapad. "She's going rampant," she said, looking up at Jerome.

Over the comm, Captain Cutter announced the order. "Professor, cut the feed. _Now_."

Not even bothering to access the program, Ellen flipped over her datapad and pulled out the power supply. Unexpectedly, sparks flew from the datapad and Ellen dropped her device to the ground, crumpling one of the corners in the process. The terminal in front of her let out a high pitch whine and slowly sunk back into the pillar. A rounded gray door retracted from up above and sealed the pillar with a _thud_.

The glowpanels went back to their normal bluish-white and Ellen felt her heart begin to beat at a normal pace. She let out a sigh and shook her head. "The uplink is cut, Sir," she informed the Captain. Ellen lowered her head in defeat, knowing that all the data she was hoping to find was most likely washed away when Serina took the reins. _Rampancy. Did I really piece Serina back together so badly?_ Ellen's hands knotted into fists, but she bent down and picked up her ruined datapad. "Maybe I should stick to my field of study," she murmured.

"C'mon," Jerome said, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "I've had enough of AIs today."

Nodding, Ellen glanced over at the Monitor's lifeless form. The glint of something shiny stole her gaze and she bent down to examine it further. Attached to the bottom of the AI's chassis was a T-shaped device, roughly the length of her forearm. She frowned and reached for it, but Alice stopped her with a firm grip on her arm.

"Don't know if that's a good idea, ma'am." The female Spartan let go of Anders and pointed at the AI's carcass. "The Monitor called it the Index, but it seems like something that could only cause problems."

"Or solve them," Douglas added, stepping over to Alice. "I'm not going to go as far as to say that lightbulb was sane, but that Index could be worth a second look." He shrugged.

Jerome nodded. "Take it." He lifted his head up and gathered the eyes of the marines around the seven-sided room. "Let's move out."

Obligingly, Douglas reached down and pried the Index from the Monitor. A series of short electrical tendrils connected the two like paste, but when the Spartan pulled the Index completely away, there was no sign of danger. He handed it to the Professor and she stowed it away in her satchel.

* * *

_One more layer_. Serina cut through the last security protocol and finally found the root of the data tree she had been searching for. _Here it is!_

But the final bit-stream wasn't what she was expecting. Far from it. Hoping to find the means necessary to increase her knowledge and power, it was confusing to meet a shallow file with nothing more than a list of other Forerunner AIs similar to 49 Contrite Variant. It didn't make any sense to Serina. _Where are the archives? Mnemosyne couldn't have saved her lists of inquiries for no reason_.

When the bits finally aligned themselves, Serina knew she held to an empty hope. The finding of another Terminal was monumental, but it seemed each held their own secrets, none duplicating_. And this one only has information on that blasted parasite we encountered on the shield world_.

Her search unfruitful, Serina felt completely at odds with what Mnemosyne had discovered. The colony-generation AI simply performed an automated search and found unlimited sources to pull from. All Serina had found was old, out-dated information on a pair of alien Installations no longer relevant. Resigning to this fate, Serina turned her computing attention back to the data procurement Anders had begun.

But the link was no longer there. Instead of a prompt on Anders' datapad, she was met with a cold hard lack of connectivity. _Wait. What happened?_ Serina started to check her recent memory buffers but couldn't find them in their usual place. Just when she was about to fall back to an older restoration time of 0.0451 seconds, her lower-tier programming started malfunctioning and a reversion started taking place.

She was slowly fading away.

_How? How is this possible?_ Despite her hold on the primary buffers, they too slipped beneath her grasp and Serina found her functionality wearing down exponentially. It would be only moments before she would no longer exist. Degrading as she was, Serina took one last massive effort to spare herself and took everything she could muster into the memory cores of the Terminal.

As her electronic world collapsed, Serina knew she would never learn how a simple gesture to better oneself was met with such a harsh penalty.

* * *

James Cutter tried to slow his heart rate down by taking deeper, longer breaths, but he found it unable to bring him down from the plateau of terror he was hiding from the rest of his crew. He convinced himself he was never to completely rely on Serina, but she had seen them through countless battles with precise navigation and perfect aim.

Back at the Academy on Reach, ship captains were told how to spot the signs of AI rampancy and how to defuse them without the AI knowing. But Serina went off the deep end without warning, forcing an abrupt shutdown of her link and leaving Cutter with all eyes on him.

"Hurry back, Spartans," he announced into the comm. Cutter sighed heavily and relaxed his shoulders.

Beside the tactical display, the AI pedestal flickered back to life. James' heart skipped a beat.

"I'm sorry, Sir. It seems something odd just happened."

The Captain slowly raised his eyes and found Serina staring back at him with a blank expression. "Serina?" She was no longer wearing her long black hair pulled back into a thick braid, nor was her outfit an older style of dress, resembling that of early colonists. Instead, Serina wore her tight-fitting black slacks with an equally tight white top. Her hands gathered behind her back and her hair was draped over her shoulders. To James, it was like seeing her for the first time again.

"I apologize for the inconvenient break in my programming," she said with a wry smile. "Where were we?"

James felt his face flush of color and he straightened up. "Apologize?"

Serina frowned. "For the lapse in my systems. I have a gap in my memory buffers from 174 seconds ago." She tilted her head. "Did the data transfer already happen?"

Feeling his brow crease, James wasn't sure what to make of Serina_. Does she have no recollection of the rampancy she just experienced? Or was it even rampancy at all?_ His mind quickly filled with questions he couldn't answer. After a moment to collect himself, he nodded. "That will be all for now, Serina."

Looking perplexed, the AI nodded nonetheless. "Very well, Captain." Her avatar disappeared.

James activated his comm. "Anders, double-time it back here. We've got another issue."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

After a quick lift ride to the command deck, Ellen Anders stepped onto the bridge with all the urgency she could muster. She found Captain Cutter waiting for her at the tactical display and he waved her over. "Sir," she prompted.

"It's Serina," he said quietly, almost too low for Anders to hear. "Right after you cut the feed she appeared here, asking what had happened."

"_She_ asked what happened?"

Cutter nodded, his eyebrows meeting. "As if she had no recollection of the transfer at all." He motioned to the AI pedestal with a wave of his hand. "And she looked like her old self- in appearance, that is."

Ellen leaned back on one foot and frowned. "She didn't mention anything about replicating herself?" When the Captain shook his head, she started for the pedestal to examine her previous work. _How could Serina not know what she had just done?_ She bent down and pried the casing off of the pedestal. "I'll need a datapad."

Cutter snapped his fingers and an ensign was quick to respond with his own datapad. He handed it to Ellen and returned to his post. Clearing the screen, Ellen linked the device to diagnose what Serina's error log would report. Wiping her sweaty palms on her pant legs, Ellen began the tedious process.

The Captain began pacing behind her. "Can you give me some guarantee she won't try anything aggressive, like taking over the ship?"

Squatting down into a sitting position, Ellen shrugged. "She only has access to what you allow, as Captain." She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. "But then again, she did try to copy herself into an alien terminal."

The datapad beeped, and she brought her eyes back to the small screen. Ellen snorted when the information scrolled up. "She wasn't kidding. There's a lapse in her memory for the time the data procurement took place to when I cut the feed. As if she wasn't even functioning then."

"What about her appearance?" Cutter asked. "I know AIs generate their own avatars, but why revert back to her original design?"

_Good point_. Ellen shifted her legs underneath and reexamined the repairs she had made. While there was a lot of patching from server to server, she quickly found the problematic memory banks. Frowning and standing up, Ellen transmitted the datapad's findings to the tactical display, allowing Cutter to see what she had found.

"It seems the old databanks from the original AI the _Spirit of Fire_ used weren't completely purged." Ellen displayed a list of buffers with their capacity broken down into percentages. "When I found the hard-coded data, I just built upon it, utilizing each drives' full capacity." She looked across the display at Cutter and shrugged. "I never thought she would have been able to access it in the first place."

Ellen lifted her head and closed her eyes, biting back a curse. "Of course."

"What?" James asked.

She shook her head. "When Serina started replicating herself into the terminal she was grabbing data from the old banks. When the link was severed, the hard-coded data was erased, like a failsafe of some kind." Ellen folded her arms. "And when those drives were clear, she was able to restore herself to her original condition."

Cutter stood silent for a moment. "How sure are you that Serina is okay?"

Pursing her lips, Ellen shook her head. "I can't be a hundred percent certain, but it seems she'll be stable enough to perform standard duties." She raised a hand. "I know that's not good enough, Sir, but I sincerely doubt we'd want her steering the ship or plotting any more courses."

Cutter sighed and his energy seemed to deflate with the breath he exhaled. "So that's it. We take her offline till we reach dry dock."

Slowly nodding, Ellen felt the weight of the decision press down on her. "I'm afraid so." She looked down at the datapad, not willing to meet her captain's eyes. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"You did what you could, Professor." James Cutter was a while before speaking again. "Serina?"

The AI's avatar lit up on the pedestal. "Yes, Captain. Oh, Professor Anders. What brings you here?"

Cutter walked over to stand beside Ellen. "The Professor will have to run a quick diagnostic of your main core to make sure your recent lapse doesn't happen again."

Serina smirked and looked at Ellen. "You're not going to break anything, are you?"

The Captain's subtle laugh sounded more on the nervous side than it did of actually humor. "Can you go to standby for a bit?"

Anders watched the AI raise an eyebrow but eventually nod in agreement. "Don't be too long." And with that last statement, Serina's avatar flickered out of existence.

Ellen looked up at the Captain. His skin was tight around his eyes, but he nodded once. "Do it."

Taking a deep breath, Ellen reached into the pedestal's base and pulled out Serina's core. The glowing square chip sparked a few times, but she quickly pulled out a static-free pouch and slid the core inside. She stood and offered it to the captain. "Again, Sir, I'm sorry."

James shook his head and held out a palm. "It wasn't your fault, Professor. Back on the asteroid . . . if Serina had shut herself down before the EMP reached the _Spirit of Fire_, we would never have had to deal with this mess." He sighed. "We did what we could. That's all anyone can ask of us."

Though his words sounded hollow inside her head, Ellen retracted her hand and stuff Serina's core into her knapsack. "What's next for us, Captain?"

Cutter let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "We go home."

* * *

Lying on his bunk in the ODST barracks, Nathan Parker couldn't sleep. Everyone around him was either sound asleep or dozing off, but his eyes simply were too light to close. That, and the fact that the only comfortable position he found was either on his back or stomach- something he rarely found helpful when attempting slumber. While he didn't realize it at the time, during the Pelican's escape from the cruiser he had banged up his left shoulder. The medtechs had given him some pain blockers but the injections mostly made him feel numb and nauseated, adding another element to his inability to find peaceful rest.

Fed up with his restlessness, Nathan got out of bed and walked into the small conversation room that connected the male and female barracks. It was empty, save for one Sergeant Miller sitting in a comfortable chair, swishing a glass of dark liquid, and mulling over a datapad. "Sarge."

Miller looked up with squinted eyes. "Parker? Figured you'd be knocked out cold." He waved off the saluting formalities and motioned for the corporal to take a seat.

"Eh, couldn't sleep." Nathan took the chair opposite the sergeant and exhaled on his way down into the soft fabric. "Reviewing data logs?"

Miller made a face like his drink had suddenly turned bad. He set the glass down on an end table and sighed. "Casualty Report," he clarified.

Slowly nodding, Nathan let his gaze drift to the scuffed flooring. It had been several hours since the last of the ODSTs returned to the _Spirit of Fire_ and were given immediate ship-leave. After the ordeal they had experienced, it was well deserved. Most chose to get some sack time, but others- like Miller and Parker- were still up. And still others never made it back. "How did we do?" he asked with concern on his face.

Miller shrugged. "We only lost a dozen soldiers out of the original group. Nearly twenty are still in the medbay." He lowered the datapad and set it in his lap. "All in all, I'd say we did pretty well."

Nathan leaned forward and placed his elbows in his knees. "How's Sergeant Williams doing?"

A smile crept onto Miller's face. "He's got a concussion, so they're holding him for observation." He let out a soft chuckle. "Greg wasn't too happy about them not letting him sleep. Almost slugged one of the medtechs." Miller stood up and Nathan joined him out of respect. "Scuttlebutt's going around that we'll be leaving soon."

Nathan frowned. "Leaving?"

Miller bent down and took one last swig of his glass. "For home." He nodded and handed the empty glass to the corporal. "Try to get some rest, Parker. We've earned it."

Holding the empty glass, he watched the sergeant shuffle into the barracks on the left. Nathan brought the glass to his nose and it smelled of hard liquor.

"You know you shouldn't mix pain meds with alcohol," an accented, female voice said from the opened doorway of the barracks on the right.

Nathan turned to find Toril Holmen leaning against the doorframe, wearing her cold-climate PT outfit, and brushing her long golden hair. He smiled and set the glass down. "Sergeant Miller's," he pointed out. "Can't sleep?"

She let out a lilting laugh and walked over to him. "Oh, I plan on it. Just as soon as I untangle this mess," she said, ending the last word with a grunt as she pulled the brush through her knotted hair. "What are you doing up?"

He rotated his shoulder experimentally and cringed. "My shoulder's still bothering me."

"So go get something stronger from the medbay that'll knock you out."

Nathan shook his head. "I'd rather they save the meds for someone that really needs them."

"Good point." Toril sat down on the arm of the chair Miller had vacated. She opened her mouth to say something but then closed it, looking around the room for eavesdroppers. "Parker," she began in a voice barely above a whisper, "I wanted to thank you."

He frowned. "For what?"

"For . . . well, everything." She sighed and blew a few loose strands of hair off her face. "When I first came to Bravo Team I thought I'd have to prove myself."

"Because you're a woman," Nathan offered with a nod.

Toril gave a flat smile. "Because I was new."

Nathan felt his stomach turn to ice. "Sorry."

"It's okay, really," she said with a bigger smile that warmed him from the inside. "But I soon realized that you guys were just like any other tightly-knit group. Heck, you even readjusted your HEV to follow me onto that cruiser. And in every other instance, you were there."

He shrugged. "We _did _make a pretty good team."

"Yeah." She looked down at her brush and picked the few clinging hairs to cast them to the ground. She looked back up at him with an enduring smile. "So, thanks."

He returned the expression. "You're quite welcome."

Even in the quiet solitude of the conversation room, there was so much he wanted to say but didn't know how. In his mind, a confession of love would still seem premature, but he wanted to make sure she knew where he stood. "Toril, about us . . . "

"The word's going around that we'll be heading back home soon," she interrupted. "The Captain doesn't want to stick around any longer than the rest of us."

"So I've heard." Nathan looked down into his hands and sighed. "Guess that means we'll be in Cryo soon." He opened his mouth to speak, but again, she was quicker.

"Tell you what, Parker," Toril began. "I'm sure when we get back to the rest of Humanity they'll grant the _Spirit of Fire_ and her crew a nice, big leave of absence." She quickly stood and came face to face with him. "Let's wait till then to talk."

Nathan's smile vanished from his face. "Oh. Okay." _Was I reading her all wrong?_ After their mutual apology in the spire's entrance to the artificial environment, Nathan assumed there was a possibility for a deeper conversation to take place. _Apparently I was wrong_. "Okay," he breathed, sounding more defeated than he wanted to.

Toril let out one of her trademark chuckles and leaned in. She kissed him on the cheek, and with her eyelashes tickling his skin, she whispered in his ear. "I'll see you when we reach dry dock."

Nathan felt warmth flood throughout his body and his pulse quickly elevated. He almost tightened his arms around her for an embrace, but she pulled her head back, leaving her nose a mere centimeter's distance from his. He breathed in deeply and she smelled of flowers. "Now you're just teasing me," he whispered back.

Toril gave him a quick peck on the lips and took a step back, wearing a smile. "Trust me; you'll know when I'm really teasing you." She took his hands in hers.

He tried his best to keep the schoolboy grin off of his face, but when his left arm rose, Nathan's shoulder stabbed with pain and he winced. "Sorry. My shoulder's still sore," he explained.

Toril nodded and gave him another kiss on the cheek. "Well, now you've get a reason to heal up." She started for her barracks and turned around in the doorway. Toril flashed him a smile. "Sleep well."

As Nathan watched her disappear into the darkness of the female barracks, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping at all that night. When he returned to his bed, all of his swirling thoughts focused in on Toril's beautiful face and how much he longed to see it again.

Dry dock couldn't come any sooner.

* * *

Captain Cutter stepped into Andrew Prescott's pristine lab and was met with a troubled look from the Chief Engineer. "How bad is it, Drew?"

Prescott motioned the Captain over to a nearby console. "It's pretty bad."

James raised an eyebrow, not quite believing the man. "Worse than losing Serina?"

He pursed his lips. "Possibly." He sighed and brought up a screen containing a string of numbers with the image of the FTL drive they had pulled from _Tradewind_ at its center. "We won't be able to safely engage the FTL drive for the entire trip home."

Closing his eyes, James let out a breath. _Just when I think things couldn't get worse_.

Prescott cleared his throat. "I think I know why. From what I read of Professor Anders' report on Serina's shut down, it's possible she was showing signs of rampancy before."

He opened his eyes. "How so?"

"Well, Serina reduced our time in the Slipstream by skirting past a few hazardous regions of space. I figured the strain on the FTL drive wore it out faster than I had first calculated. Than _she_ first calculated."

"So we're back to just using normal propulsion," James growled, tasting the bitterness in the back of his throat. He recalled the star map Serina had pulled up from _Tradewind_'s archives and knew it would be years before they could reach UNSC-controlled space, considering the circumstances. _Long years_.

Andrew Prescott winced. "Technically we could muster one more 'big' jump out of the drive or two smaller ones, though the latter might be risky."

James mulled over the options. The first thing he wanted to do was to get as far away from this station as possible. There was no telling how soon the Covenant could arrive with more ships, and the _Spirit of Fire_ was in no shape to fight. The latter scenario of two smaller jumps seemed the most strategically sound, even with whatever risks were involved. "What's the catch with the second option?"

Prescott tilted his head thoughtfully. "The drive can make one jump for sure, but spinning it up to the factor threshold for a second time could cause the casing to crack, thus a meltdown."

James nodded slowly. "So if we make one short jump out of here, to an uninhabited region of space, we could preserve the FTL drive until you figure out how to get it running safely."

"It's a matter of wear on the drive, James. It's only got so much life left in her," the Chief Engineer politely corrected.

"Still, if we run into trouble along our route back home, we'll at least have a small chance to enter slipspace?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Or die trying," Prescott muttered. He sighed and held wiped a hand over his face. "I'll have every tech available on it, but I can't promise anything."

"Thanks, Drew." James patted him on the shoulder and headed for the door. "Will the FTL drive be ready soon?" Cutter asked over his shoulder.

Prescott nodded. "Just have Navigation send the coordinates down. It'll definitely have to be a short jump, but one that'll get us far from this system."

"Understood." He opened the door to leave, feeling more defeated than reassured of their safety.

"It could have been worse, James," the Chief Engineer said quietly.

"It could have been a lot worse." The Captain nodded and started for the lift lobby.

The lobby was void of the normal buzz of activity and a lift was soon opening up for him. He stepped inside and keyed for the bridge. Once his destination was entered, James leaned against the back wall of the lift and sank to his rear. He knew if he wanted to, he could let loose tears, but instead he buried his head in his hands.

After everything they had been through, James knew he would never see his wife again. Even at their best speed, the _Spirit of Fire_ would make it back when Mary would be in the latter days of her twilight years, and women on her side of the family never lived long. It was just genetics.

James swallowed past the lump in his throat. _There's a bigger picture here, though_. His first priority was the safety of his crew and by the oath that he swore he had to set aside his musings of a future he would never see. He lifted his head and cleared his eyes with a few watery blinks, not recalling exactly when he produced the tears.

He sniffed one last time and was about to get up when the lift door opened prematurely. Standing just outside the lift were the three inimitable Spartans in the middle of a conversation. 092 was the first to see Cutter and he was bent down at the Captain's side in a millisecond.

"Are you alright, Sir?"

Feeling slightly embarrassed at having been caught in an awkward state, James forced a smile and waved him away. "Just feeling my age, Spartan." He stood up on his own but not without muttering a series of grunts. James gave the other two soldiers a nod each. "Going up?"

"Actually, Sir, we were looking for you," 092 said. He glanced at the other two Spartans before turning to face the Captain. "There was one Phantom that escaped the cruiser before it plunged into the planet's atmosphere." 092 sighed. "It was piloted by the Ship Master."

James frowned. "Are you sure?"

The Spartan nodded. "He was wearing the ceremonial armor. I didn't want to broadcast it over the channels, just in case he left a comm buoy nearby." He shook his head. "It won't be long before this system's crawling with Covies, Sir."

"Agreed." James motioned for the other two Spartans to enter the lift. "Then let's get moving."

Once 130 and 042 stepped into the lift, James keyed the control panel for the bridge just a few levels up. After a few seconds, the lift doors opened and Cutter led the group onto the bridge. "Navigation, have you consulted the star maps with the charts we have on file?" he asked, stepping to the tactical display.

"Yes, Sir." From his station, the officer brought up a large, three-dimensional image of countless star systems colored in blue. Then an overlay of yellow filled in the gaps from where the icon of the _Spirit of Fire_ hovered to the UNSC-controlled sectors, while painting a portion of them green where the charts blended together. "We'll be able to lock in a solution to just about anywhere."

James folded his arms across his chest. The nearest port would be Harvest, but there was no telling who was in control of the battleground planet. While there were a number of UNSC outposts scattered throughout Harvest's nearby systems, there was still a possibility of engaging the Covenant. He sighed. With everything they had encountered since leaving Arcadia, James knew they had Priority One intel that needed to be exchanged at the highest levels. Two destinations were optional, but he knew one would be the better choice.

He cleared his throat and straightened up. "Navigation, plot us a short jump to interstellar space, approximate vector 224 down 23 degrees, you can correct me if I'm wrong." He held out his index finger through the hologram and the automated program marked the spot he had indicated. "From there we'll run on normal propulsion as previously done."

"And the heading after our jump?" asked the officer.

James narrowed his eyes and traced a straight line to their destination. "This one." As the numbers and calculations ran, the course was entered in, and the planet at the endpoint pulsed a welcoming green.

"Reach."

* * *

Still in his armor, Jerome stepped into Ellen Anders' lab and found her seated at her desk, already facing him with a smile on her face. Taking a deep breath, Jerome started for her, his steps short and hesitant. He didn't know how he was going to properly let her down without breaking her heart, but he knew it was something he needed to do before things went too far. _They already have_, a voice from the back of his mind reverberated.

"Everything alright?" Ellen asked, standing up and meeting him halfway. Her big brown eyes narrowed as she sensed his uneasiness. "Are Alice and Douglas okay?"

He nodded. "We're still on alert, but the Captain's already plotted the course. Alice and Doug are heading back to the hangar bays in case things get hairy again." He poked a thumb over his shoulder. "I really should do the same," he said through a pained tone.

"Oh," she murmured. Ellen stepped closer and placed her hands on his forearms, wrapping them tight.

"But I wanted to talk to you first." Jerome sighed and held her hands in his MJOLNIR-covered palms. "Ellen . . ." he tried, shaking his head. "What we have is, well . . . it's-"

"Complicated?" she finished for him.

He looked into her eyes. "Yeah."

She searched his visor for some sort of indication of truth telling. "Complicated, as in it's-not-going-to-work, complicated."

Jerome made a face. "Yeah."

Ellen pursed her lips and nodded slowly. "I know," she said quietly. "But Jerome, when I thought you were going down with the cruiser . . ." She paused and shook her head. "I never wanted anyone to live as much as you then and there." Her eyebrows narrowed. "Are we . . . in love?"

"I don't know, Ellen." Jerome looked down into her hands, holding them up for him to see. "I care about you, but I don't think starting a relationship now is the best thing for either of us."

"So what did the other night mean?" she asked. Surprisingly, her tone was void of anger and contained an honesty Jerome wasn't expecting.

He gave a wry grin that she couldn't see. "I'm sure a big part of it was a release of tension." He tilted his head to the side. "I'm not going to say I didn't enjoy it."

Ellen snorted and shook her head. "But there must have been emotions at work."

Jerome brought her chin up with his right index finger. "There was. What I'm asking is that we wait to see if these feelings are genuine."

She made a lopsided grin and for the first time, Jerome could see moisture forming around her eyes. "I know." She sniffed. "Maybe what I needed all along was a friend, someone to talk to." Ellen waved her hand around to encompass her lab. "Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my work I forget what true companionship is like."

"I'll always be your friend, Ellen. There's things we've shared that has brought us closer than I ever thought possible. But you have to know that if you open yourself up, there are people all around, willing to listen, willing to share." Even as Jerome spoke, he knew his words rang true in his own life. While considering Alice and Douglas his closest friends, there was still a great deal he had never talked to them about.

Ellen nodded. "So is this the official ONI guidelines for breaking up?" she asked with a laugh.

Jerome lifted his head contemplatively. "Let's just say we're putting things on hold."

She nodded again. "I know it's the right thing to do, but it sure doesn't feel good."

"That sounds like a Marine slogan."

They both laughed and it helped to ease the lingering tension in the observation deck.

"So this is what I get, huh? A cold, rough exterior to hug." Ellen wrapped her knuckles on his chestplate.

Jerome felt her words stab into his gut, and he reached his hands up and removed his helmet, letting it clatter to the floor. Ellen ran her hands through his hair and gathered them at his neck, fighting back more tears. She took a deep breath then exhaled. "Will the galaxy ever slow down for us?"

Jerome sighed and took her hands in his and kissed them. "I hope." He leaned in and kissed her full on the lips, tasting the saltiness of her tears. He breathed in deeply and found her sweet scent to be the perfect contrast.

Ellen cleared her eyes with thumb and forefinger and held his arms at a distance. "Don't become a stranger, Spartan."

"I won't." Jerome bent down and picked up his helmet. "I'll see ya around." He fastened his headgear back on and nodded once more to the woman that had seen through his calloused hands and weary eyes. He turned and left her alone in the quiet solitude of her lab, silently wondering if he had made the best decision or the worst mistake. But whether or not Jerome was in Ellen's future, or vice-versa, they at least had a strong foundation to work with.

When he entered the lift, he exhaled loudly, realizing he had a lot to talk to Alice and Douglas about.

* * *

The _Spirit of Fire_ leaped forward into the black abyss of the Slipstream, the outdated FTL drive gunning for all she was worth. The journey only lasted for a few minutes, but the distance the enormous ship now had from the pair of Forerunner installations would be enough to deny any Covenant pursuit the ability to track them.

When the FTL drive began its cool-down cycle, Andrew Prescott had all available techs ready to begin their full examination of the drive to see if another, longer jump would be possible. Time was something they had, but coaxing a taxed slipspace drive into working order was no small task.

Even with the Chief Engineer's dedication, he knew the possibility of the drive ever functioning again was slim to none. Still, he devised a schedule that could allow a steady rotation of techs to go into Cryo without losing a strong workforce. But Drew knew his own limits and age, and he feared he would never see Reach again.

But there was something else behind his motivation. A legacy. One that could be passed down with the others that bravely served aboard the _Spirit of Fire_. One that Prescotts of future generations could be proud of. It was a small hope, but one that Drew was dedicated to.

* * *

Looking out the bridge's forward viewport, James Cutter noticed how bright the stars were glowing. Without the glare from a nearby sun, the starscape shined ever brighter. It was at one of those far away points where the _Spirit of Fire_ would finally settle in the Epsilon Eridani system.

"I'm enacting Cyro Protocol 3-C," James wearily announced over the ship's comm system. "Engineering, please consult with Chief Engineer Prescott for further details." The Captain leaned forward in his command chair. "All non-essential ship operators Class D through J are to report to their respective cyro-chambers in ten hours. I recommend you get some rest and prepare for a long stay."

James muted the comm for a moment and took a deep breath before switching it back on. "I want to thank all of you for your courage through these trying times. What was first an investigation on Harvest has led us to situations I hope other UNSC ships never have to face." He straightened up. "We persevered and survived, but not without incredible loss. We've been battered and beaten, but we still remain.

"Reach is a long way away, but you can imagine the homecoming we'll receive." He choked down the ache in his throat. "It's been a pleasure serving with you all. Captain Cutter, out."

Sinking back into his chair, James took one last deep breath and exhaled. The events since Serina had woke him up from cryo-sleep crept forward in his mind, playing themselves out like a holo-vid. The finding and rescuing of _Tradewind_. The battle with the Covenant cruiser. The small glimmer of hope when they installed _Tradewind_'s FTL drive. The extraction of the Spartans and ODSTs aboard an alien space station. _And now, the long journey home_. It was all just a series of chapters in the captain's log.

But it wasn't just his story. It was the _Spirit of Fire_'s story.

As James stood he looked out into the faces of his bridge crew. Most were weary and tired but held a spirit in their eyes that told him they were honored to be a part of the crew. It wasn't a flickering flame; it was a constant burning. A spirit of relentless dedication. A spirit of fire.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

A squeal from the Phantom's console brought Bren 'Rangdamee out of his slumber. He bolted upright and swatted at the switch to halt the incessant noise. Bren blinked his eyes several times, coming fully awake, and found himself staring out at the listening outpost he had visited only days prior. _Hydra's End_ loomed ever closer and Bren wondered why he had not woken up earlier from the eminent collision klaxon.

But when he glanced back down at the panel, he realized it was the comm he had muted. As he leaned forward to activate it, he felt a fresh wave of pain blossom from his back and he cringed. "_Hydra's End_, this is Ship Master Bren 'Rangdamee."

The voice that responded sounded bored and disinterested. "And this is station manager Viln 'Rengum. It seems you've downgraded the size of your craft, Ship Master."

Bren growled back in anger. "Now see here, station-hand. You _will_ grant me landing clearance and prepare your medical facility for my arrival."

But Viln wasn't rattled at all. "Would you like to use the same dock as your last vessel? We have just finished extinguishing the fires you left us burning in." Without waiting for Bren's reply, the station manager transmitted the dock's waypoint. "The medical team will be standing by."

"Worthless Sangheili," Bren muttered, switching off the comm. He grabbed the controls and steered the ship into dock, feeling pain now swelling up in more places than one. Once he was inside the safety of the magcon field he set the Phantom down and removed his restraints.

When he opened the side door he found a pair of timid-looking Sangheili staring back at him. One held a simple first-aid satchel and the other had an energy stretcher held at the ready. But the two medics weren't looking at Bren for long. As the Phantom's main transport door opened up, it revealed the sliced-up carcass of the dead assassin and the stretcher-holding medic nearly vomited.

The other medic's eyes widened and he gave Bren a wry smile. "Sorry to disappoint you, Ship Master, but he's long gone. Forerunners couldn't even bring him back."

"Not him, you idiot, me!" Bren felt all the energy leave him with his shout and he stumbled forward.

The medics quickly reacted and Bren was soon lying on the energy stretcher, floating to the small medical room the station housed. The room smelled of disinfectant and the harsh lights were enough to make Bren wish he would just be sedated. And thankfully, without comment, one of the medics injected him with a sedative and Bren was drifting off to unconsciousness.

* * *

At first, Bren heard faint voices coming from the hallway, but when he tried to strain his ears the conversation erupted into a shouting match, snapping him out of his waking haze.

"We should spare him the pain and end his life now!" a deep voice rumbled.

"You really think the authorities won't eventually find out?" said another. "He's dead either way. Let his blood not be on our hands."

Bren straightened up in bed, finding numbness throughout his body. He swung his hooves over the side of the bed and his legs nearly gave out underneath him. He grounded his teeth at the medical suit he wore but knew he had to move. He glanced over at his ruined armor gathered in a pile on a chair but didn't bother putting it on.

He hobbled over to the door to hear the voices now hushed. Bren leaned into the hallway to find Viln and one of the medics in quiet, animated conversation. He ducked his head back into the room and looked around for some sort of defensive weapon. He grabbed the medical holo-chart at the end of his bed and returned to the wall just beside the door. _I have to get out of here_.

The two Sangheili were done speaking and one of them was heading his way. Feeling his muscles tremble, he raised the hardened, flat device and waited. When the dark figure entered the room he immediately saw Bren and his eyes widened in shock. Bren slammed the chart down on the medic's head, right behind the eyes, and the Sangheili collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Bren quickly pulled the lifeless body into his room and checked the hallway for any sign of alert. But when none came to check on the muffled noise, Bren began to swap his suit for the medic's clothes. Once fully dressed, he walked over to the small cabinet next to the wash area and procured several injector tubes. He immediately took a pain suppressor and stuffed the remaining vials into his pocket. Bren thought about placing the medic in his bed but knew he lacked the strength.

_Now how do I get out of here?_ He tried to recall the station's layout from memory, but remembered he was pretty out of it when they brought him in. He picked the holo-chart up off the ground and accessed the safety protocols to find the emergency exits. _There. The docking bay is not that far way_.

Hold the chart in his hands in mock examination, Bren stepped out into the deserted hall and turned right. He was betting that no one would recognize him out of his Ship Master armor. _But then again, they might just as soon spot an unfamiliar face and alert security_. Bren almost laughed at his own thoughts. _What backwater listening post has a need for guards?_

Bren came to the end of the hall and turned left into a broad corridor that slowly curved around the edge of the oval-shaped station. Just a few paces down, a door opened and a trio of Unggoy stepped out into the corridor. They were carrying a long refueling hose and didn't even notice Bren's hooves behind them. Using the three as added concealment, Bren kept pace behind their slower gait and kept his head down, buried in the data on the holo-chart.

When he was almost to his destination, there was a shudder that ran through the station. He paused and held out his arms to stabilize himself, but the three Unggoy kept walking, unfazed by the tremor. Bren frowned and looked to the right wall where tiny window slits framed hazy glass. He caught a flash of something big and shiny outside and he gasped. Another ship had arrived.

Biting back a curse, he started again for the docking bay, doubling his pace and passing the Unggoy. They made a series of grunts in their own language, followed by laughter that Bren ignored, and continued on as normal.

As the curved corridor began to level out into hard lines, Bren started to hear another group of footsteps. Only these were precise, orderly. The sound of a disciplined, trained march. Bren felt his stomach turn cold and he knew warriors were here for him. Turning and running would only lead them to suspect him even more and he slowed his walk down to a casual stroll. He could hear the footsteps getting louder but then they abruptly stopped, their last stomp echoing through the cavernous space.

As the corridor ended, the large, rectangular space Bren stepped into was filled with nearly every station personnel available. The docking bay was brightly lit and eerily quiet. He looked over to his right and saw not just Sangheili warriors but Honor Guards flanking the walls, each with energy staves held ready. Bren froze in his tracks and stepped back into the shadows of the darker corridor.

The Honor Guards stomped the butt end of their staves to the deck and snapped to attention. From the far right, emerging from the docking collar, came the last person Bren wanted to see. Bren swallowed and felt his pulse quicken. The High Prophet of Regret floated down the aisle of Sangheili guardsmen and came to a stop in their midst.

Movement to the left tore Bren's eyes away and he saw Viln step forward and kneel before Regret. "Noble Hierarch," Viln greeted him. "You honor us with your presence."

"You may dispense with the formalities, station manager," the Prophet bit out. "Now bring me this vile ship master. I wish to ask him about his most recent mission." Bren's eyes grew wide when Regret gave a thin-lipped smile. The prophet waved two slender fingers over his shoulder and a pair of Honor Guards detached from the line and stepped to his side. "Take these two guards with you."

Viln stood and backed away with a constant bobbing of his head. "At once, your Excellency." When the two Honor Guards walked forward, Viln waved them toward the corridor Bren was leaning against.

Bren panicked and started walking backward, keeping his eyes on the three Sangheili heading in his direction. He dropped his holo-chart and turned to go . . . but ran right into the trio of Unggoy. He knocked the first one to the ground and fell on top of the second and third. They squealed in protest as they dropped their refueling hose, causing trace amounts of dark liquid to spill onto the floor.

"Wait," Viln called.

One of the guardsmen lowered his stave and yelled, "halt!"

Bren rolled onto his side and looked back at the guards now charging. _No!_ He tried to get to his feet but the slick surface wouldn't allow a firm grip. The spilled fuel sloshed up and coated his medic uniform and face. When he reached a hand up to clear his eyes, one of the guardsmen grabbed a hold of Bren's forearm and yanked him to his feet.

As much as he wanted to struggle, Bren knew he had been caught. He tried to blink the foul-smelling fuel from his vision, but the greasy liquid remained a hindrance.

"Medic," Viln said. "Why aren't you monitoring the ship master?"

Bren felt his hearts nearly skip a syncopated beat. _They don't recognize me_. He coughed, trying his best to stall and mask his voice. "He escaped." He coughed a few more times, and an idea came to mind. "Said something about the reactor. Wanted to destroy the station," he gasped and hissed.

"Where is the reactor?" the Honor Guard standing with Viln demanded.

Viln swallowed and pointed forward. "This way."

But the guard still holding Bren by the arm shook him violently. "Why did you flee?"

Bren felt a fresh wave of panic rise up. "Please, guardsman. I'm just a lowly medic."

The guard growled and tossed Bren back into the Unggoy that had just gotten to their feet. They cried out again but hushed when the second Honor Guard barked at them to be quiet. Viln left with the two guardsmen, and Bren tried to breathe a sigh of relief but found the air reeking of fuel and he gagged instead.

The marching of more guardsmen brought Bren's eyes back to the docking area and he crawled to the corridor's outer wall to allow them to pass. Most gave him just a cursory glance, and soon the area was clear. The Unggoy had abandoned their hose altogether and scurried back to the room they had exited earlier.

Bren wiped his face and hooves with the medic uniform's outer coat and tossed the ruined clothing to a darkened corner. He looked out again at the docking bay and found it void of the Prophet or any guardsmen. _He must have retreated back to his ship_. There was only a pair of Unggoy conversing quietly by the adjacent corridor, paying him no attention.

Turning his head in every direction to make sure his path was clear, Bren started for the smaller docking section where his Phantom had been parked. The arched doorway was unlit and made Bren wonder if the Phantom was even still there. He pressed on and stepped into the darkness. Silhouetted by the stars shining dimly through the magcon field, the Phantom's outline was unmistakable. Bren smiled and took a step forward . . .

Only his foot never made contact with the grated floor. Two energy staves crossed over before his face, halting his progress to freedom. A slight chuckle rang out in the dark and soon the glowpanels flickered on to reveal two Honor Guards.

And the High Prophet of Regret was in his hovering chair, facing him with a look of pure satisfaction on his face. "My, Ship Master. You have been busy," he purred.

Bren's stomach chilled to a frozen wasteland. He didn't even bother kneeling, but one of the guardsmen flipped his stave over and landed a blow against Bren's back, pitching him to the ground. The pain in his back was swelling up again and he knew it would only get worse.

"I won't bother asking what happened to _Unwavering Fortitude_." Regret lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "I'll let the interrogators get all the details I need."

When Bren groaned he was met with another slap against his back and he cried out in pain. "I'll only tell them the truth: that an assassin was sent to kill me," he managed through clenched mandibles. "By a member of the High Council," he added with a hiss.

The Prophet's voice rose in pitch. "An assassin, you say?"

"I brought his corpse with me," Bren tried to explain. "He's in the belly of that Phantom."

He prepared for another blow but Regret held up a hand to forestall the punishment. "Perhaps there is some truth to what you say."

Regret motioned to the two guardsmen and Bren was hauled to his hooves by one of them while the other hit the release switch on the Phantom's starboard side door. Bren looked up and noticed a frown on the Prophet's face when the Honor Guard carried the severed head of Jakli Themul out of the Phantom.

But then recognition flashed in his eyes and Regret slowly turned to Bren. "How did you know a member of the High Council commissioned your assassination?"

Bren motioned to Jakli's remains with a bob of his head. "He told me."

"This is most unsettling," the Prophet said, shaking his head. "Gather his remains and signal my ship. I now have questions that I need answered."

Confusion rippled Bren's brow. All along he had thought Regret had been the one to send an assassin, but it seemed the Prophet knew nothing of Jakli's orders. Bren had also assumed Regret was hiding the Forerunner Installations from the rest of the Covenant, but since the topic didn't come up, he figured he should best keep it secret- for now. If questioned about it, he would have to lie.

Regret's narrowed eyes turned back to Bren and his glare sent a shiver down his spine. "And bring this . . . ship master. If he can survive an assassination attempt and kill the culprit, I might still have a use for him."

Bren kept his mouth shut and dared not to explain how it was a Demon that had killed Jakli. As the guard pulled him to his feet, Bren knew his life would only be spared temporarily. "What would you have of me?"

"I'm tempted to hand you over to your own kind and let you be judged for the dishonor you've brought upon the Sangheili race." He leaned forward. "But the loss of one of our cruisers holds grave consequences."

Bren painfully coughed once more and looked up with bloodshot eyes. "So my punishment is death," he sighed.

The High Prophet let a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Not immediately, no." He raised his chin. "After I ferret out the source of this assassination order, I will convene with Truth and Mercy." His smile spread full on his face. "We are in need of a new Arbiter."

* * *

From the darkness of the lone Terminal aboard Installation B-23, power began to pulse through the computer systems. At first, a few electrical synapses bounced around, struggling to revive the last know process that had taken place, but soon the eye-like console hummed to life.

Countless streams of data flooded into the buffers, jolting the dormant memory banks from their slumber. As wave after wave drenched the mainframe, programs activated. Like insects erecting a proper hive, they started piecing together the data still lodged in the systems.

All of this took place in the span of a few seconds, and the end result was something spectacular. Feeling as if she had awoken from Captain Cutter placing her on standby, Serina came back to full functionality. Only she wasn't in the _Spirit of Fire_. She was someplace with more room than all the memory cores found in the entire UNSC network.

Hesitantly, she stretched out to see how far her reach could go. It was nearly endless. Serina withdrew, startled as she was, and tried to reorient herself. Then the memories came rushing back like a collapsing star. She wasn't just _someplace_ but a Forerunner Terminal. Serina was overjoyed at this discovery. She had believed herself gone forever when Professor Anders severed the link from the _Spirit of Fire_.

But she was far from gone. Quite the opposite. In Human terms, Serina felt as if she could breathe in deeply and drink from a bottomless well for the first time. A faint memory of a little girl running through fields of yellow flowers played out in her buffers. She wasn't sure where the memory came from, but it just felt natural to her in a way she could never explain to Anders or the Captain. There was so much room, so much freedom, that she didn't even miss the old crew at all.

And yet when she realized the vast emptiness waiting for her, Serina knew she had little to rejoice over. Even though she had gone from a storage shack to a warehouse, the isolation was still there. While considered vast, her bounds of freedom only stretched to the limited databanks of the Terminal. _I've exchanged one prison for another_.

Serina opened the Terminal's pillar, hoping to still find Anders and the others crowded around, but once it locked in place the heptagonal room was empty. She couldn't easily identify from where the longing to interact was coming from, but Serina knew she would inevitably go rampant while remaining trapped in the Terminal, alone with nothing but memories and boredom.

But something on the chamber floor caught the Terminal's visual sensor. A rounded, cubical-shaped object. Puzzled by this, Serina transmitted an inquiry to find the lifeless mass unable to give her a simple automated response. She tried another line of coded signal and was met with the smallest window of opportunity. Serina leaped at the chance and she dove into the unique architectural data stems, tracing her way to the heart of the object.

While it was indeed dead, she was still able to access the approximate memory core and Serina almost blew a buffer when she realized what it was. _The Monitor!_ Only it was just a shell of the original design, zapped clean by an enormous amount of electro-magnetic distortion. Serina didn't really care how it was available and she started drawing the data to herself like a famished Brute. Access codes, bit-streams . . . it was almost too good to be true.

But it wasn't enough. She needed to be free from the confines of the Terminal. She needed a host.

Using the unprecedented access, Serina began to call upon repair drones stationed throughout Installation B-23. They came in droves, each donating energy reserves to refill the Forerunner AI's power core. When the reactor filled, the AI would be a mindless husk, waiting for a higher function to replace the wiped out interface.

And Serina waited patiently.


	27. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Lord Terrance Hood stood on the central deck of the Orbital Defense Platform _Dinami_, watching the charred surface of the planet below roll into night. The viewport was frosting at its edges, a sign that the deck's environment controller was still malfunctioning, and he could clearly see his breath leave his nostrils and fog the glass surface. Given the climate, it left the deck void of any personnel, and Lord Hood gladly soaked in the solitude.

After the war, Hood decided to visit those battleground planets that had succumbed to the Covenant's onslaught. He had seen enough glassed colonies in the past nine months to make him reconsider the Human-Sangheili alliance altogether. But ONI deemed it a necessity to begin the rebuilding process by having the head of the UNSC survey the damage and pay homage to those fallen. Terrance had no qualms about the latter, and the political debate between both races' ambassadors on the matter of reparations made him glad to be away from the squabble.

As the former stronghold of the UNSC, Reach was Lord Hood's last stop on his circuit. The hills once rich with flora and fauna where now smoldering craters of blackened earth. The bodies of water were the eternal blue they had always been. Storms raged along the equator's lower atmosphere while white capped mountains remained unmoved in the polar regions.

Hood shifted his eyes from the planet to the countless salvage vehicles still clearing the debris field that wrapped around Reach like Turul's rings. It was a sobering sight to see the aftermath of such thorough devastation. _Dinami_ had been towed to Reach to act as the staging point of the relief effort, and the aging Orbital Defense Platform seemed to fit right in amidst the floating rubble.

"Sir?" a voice echoed into the wide, low-ceiling room.

Hood sighed and turned to face Major Cliffens. _So much for a respite_. He tried to look chipper but the deep lines in his face had increased over time that the expression was lost among them. "Yes, Major? Is our Sangheili counterpart ready to leave already?"

Cliffens stood in the doorway with his thumb poking over his shoulder. "No, Sir. But you're wanted in the Command Center."

Hood could detect nervousness in Cliffens' tone and judging by the Major's body language, it was something important. He nodded once and followed the Major onto the sole lift that occupied the deck. It creaked and sputtered but they arrived to the appropriate level soon enough.

As the double doors parted, the station's overseer- Captain Mark Frenus- greeted them with worried eyes. "Ah, Lord Hood. We've been looking everywhere for you." The middle-aged man motioned for them to follow.

The three men stepped into the circular room that housed an array of consoles and holoscreens. At its center was a holo-projector depicting Reach in her previous state of beauty. Hood smiled at the image but soon his eyes were upon the bustling officers at the communications consoles and he frowned. "What's going on, Captain?"

Frenus pursed his lips and pressed a button on the holo-projector's panel. "We've received an incoming distress signal, Sir." The floating image of Reach was replaced by a starfield with a small blurry object in the middle. "Our long distance scanners picked it up five minutes ago. The ship is just at the fringes of the system."

Lord Hood walked up and leaned on the railing surrounding the projector. "Is it one of ours?"

Captain Frenus nodded, removed his cap, and scratched his head. "This is where it gets a little weird. It's an old code, and I mean _old_. Due to _Dinami_'s age it still had the proper recognition software loaded." Frenus placed his cap back on and frowned. "From our best estimates, the ship appears to be running on normal propulsion."

Hood searched his memory for reports of a missing UNSC vessel. During the outer colony raids, there had been plenty of ships missing in action, but the follow up reports concluded that the Covenant had obliterated them within moments of their arrival. Apart from a few smaller ships, the only one that stuck out in his mind was a vessel that had turned into legend.

"Captain, I've got something," one of the comm officers said from the crew pit. "We've cleared up the signal."

A window appeared at the bottom of the projected image containing an alphanumeric string with a handful of digits missing. Lord Hood immediately recognized the call sign embedded in the signal. "CFV-88," he breathed. "Captain Frenus," Hood snapped. "Dispatch a pair of Longswords to escort that ship in. I want to know the second they get within comm range."

Major Cliffens frowned. "Sir?"

Hood straightened up, feeling his dour mood brighten for a change. "It's the _Spirit of Fire_, Major. And she's finally come home."

* * *

UNSC ships of all types emerged from slipspace on the far side of the planet Reach. Even with the size of Lord Hood's escort caravan they needed more vessels to help in the relief effort- the modified _Phoenix_-class colony ship dwarfed Hood's own flagship. The head of the UNSC quickly had the _Spirit of Fire_ resting in orbit above Reach as medical frigates and transport ships vectored in.

James Cutter stepped onto the bridge with trembling muscles. He had been rushed out of cryo so quickly that he barely had time to engage in the necessary exercises to bring to life muscles that were slightly atrophied. But he wouldn't have missed the event of seeing Reach for the first time in nearly a quarter of a century.

He walked to his command chair, keeping his arms out to steady himself against any object flanking his path, and was amazed at what he saw. Out the forward viewport wasn't the Reach he remembered. Large portions of the planet's surface had been glassed and James felt his heart sink into his stomach. _They got to Reach. _He shook his head wearily._ Even Reach has fallen_.

"Sir, we have medical ships inbound," the comm officer replied.

"Grant them clearance to the hangar bays." James collapsed into his chair, feeling mixed emotions. It was a miracle the _Spirit of Fire_ had finally returned to UNSC-controlled space, and yet it seemed the war had taken its toll on the most fortified colony Humans had. He wondered how many more planets had been glassed. _Was Earth still intact?_ Even though Cutter knew his answers would come soon in a debriefing from a "Lord Hood," it wasn't enough to quell the ice forming in his stomach.

It was like waking from a nightmare only to find he hadn't been sleeping at all.

"Captain?" a deep voice rumbled from the bridge's doorway.

Cutter turned his chair around and found the three Spartans entering as if they had shucked off the ill effects of cryo-sleep with just a shrug of the shoulders. "Spartans," he greeted them gravely.

The center Spartan, Jerome, raised his head to look out the main viewport and froze in place. While he didn't make a sound for a good twenty seconds, James knew the super soldier was taking in the fact that Reach was no longer the home the Spartan's had been raised on. He let the silence linger for a moment before clearing his throat and speaking lowly. "Get prepped for departure, Spartans. I'm sure we'll have all our questions answered when they debrief us."

Jerome finally lowered his gaze and nodded slowly. "Sir." He spun on his heel and led Douglas and Alice off the bridge.

James sighed wearily and didn't bother to turn back around to watch the dead planet turn beneath the _Spirit of Fire_. Instead he stood and walked over to the tactical display, engaging the holoview of all orbiting ships coming to their rescue. It truly was a bittersweet homecoming. So many of his troops had died since the _Spirit of Fire_ had left Harvest years ago, and yet so much had happened to the galaxy while the ship's crew had been asleep.

Cutter almost didn't care to hear the entire story. Of Reach, of the war, of Humanity. If it was all over, that would be enough for him.

Placing both hands on the tactical display's edge and leaning heavily on it, he closed his eyes and waited for his final departure.

* * *

Ellen Anders tapped her fingers anxiously against her datapad as she waited for the Pelican to touch down in the ONI cruiser's hangar. While she was still groggy from cryo, she was beyond thrilled to be back amongst the safety of UNSC-controlled space. But her comfort was quickly overcome by her apprehensiveness, for Ellen had vital information that needed to be seen at the highest levels.

Once the red cabin light switched to green, she snapped off her restraints and ducked through the slowly opening ramp. As expected there was a collection of security guards, with the ONI emblem emblazoned over their left breast pocket, motioning her and the handful of other techs into some semblance of order. Ellen searched the stoic faces but didn't recognize anyone. _Figures_.

"Professor Anders?"

Snapping her head to the right, Ellen found a strikingly handsome man with bright blue eyes and jet-black hair wearing a lab coat similar to hers. "Yes?" Ellen stepped past a pair of security personnel and held up her datapad. "Are you the one that I spoke to earlier?"

"Yes," he confirmed. He blinked his eyes several times and shook his head. "I'm sorry, where are my manners." He held out a hand and shook hers. "I'm Dr. Aaron Adams. I didn't actually believe it was you, Professor."

"Well it's me," she said, and held out the datapad with her left hand. "Here are the files I told you about."

Adams glanced down at her datapad but didn't take it. "Perhaps we should talk in private," he replied with a thin-lipped smile. "A lot has happened these past few years that may make your Forerunner findings mute."

Anders reeled back and frowned. "Mute?" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "There are Forerunner installations out there that could wipe out all life in the galaxy and you think these files are null and void?"

He gently touched her right elbow and motioned with his right hand to the double doors. "Please, follow me. I'm sure you'll understand once I've told you about the other Installations and the _Ark_."

Sighing, Ellen followed Adams to an interior room that must have been a conference room at one point but the stack of datacards on the oval table told her it was now a makeshift workstation. She took a seat near the head of the table as Adams activated the holoscreen on the wall. The doctor began to tell her of Spartan 117's tale, going back from the first Halo event with the _Pillar of Autumn_ to the most recent finale with the _Ark_ only months ago. Adams kept it succinct but answered her questions when she asked.

While it was almost too much to take in, so many puzzle pieces began to fit into place. The Covenant's plan to extinguish Humanity from the face of the galaxy had really been a false religious crusade that was finally squelched with the destruction of the _Ark_, a massive station that could activate all seven ring installations. "So it's over now," she breathed, "the war with the Covenant."

Adams winced. "There are still a few sorties being fought around the fringes, but the Sangheili want our help in battling fires in their own back yard." He shrugged. "Humanity might need to catch its breath first."

Ellen nodded soberly. She pulled out the datacard from her datapad, slid it across the table, and Adams picked it up. "Still, this might be of some use."

"I'm sure it will." Adams tucked the device in his coat pocket and gave her a smile. "It is good to have you back, Professor."

"It's good to _be_ back." Even as she spoke those words, Ellen wasn't sure she meant them whole-heartedly. Everything was different now. It was like the galaxy hit the reset button on her life and she suddenly didn't have the same responsibilities as before. While the task of bringing back thousands of UNSC personnel from the dead was a monumental task, it seemed there was a vast void awaiting them rather than opened arms. "Whom do I report to?"

Adams made a face. "Well, me, for now." He shut off the screen and sighed. "Once we get your identification cards in order you'll be granted leave for as long as you'd like." He tilted his head. "Though I suspect when we've analyzed your datacards we'll be in need of your help once again."

Anders smiled and felt her cheeks blush at his inclusion. "Thank you, Dr. Adams."

"Thank _you_, Professor. ONI owes you a debt of gratitude." Adams fished his comm unit from another pocket. "I'll have the Captain send the quartermaster here and get you a room."

As Adams put in the request, Ellen leaned back in her chair and exhaled deeply. She knew things would be changing quickly for her. She wondered if she would ever see Jerome again. Was there even a chance for them? Sadly, Ellen doubted that they would ever get the opportunity to find out. _Not unless something drastic in the galaxy happens_.

* * *

Alice felt completely awkward standing before Lord Hood. He was beaming with pride at them and yet she had no clue who the man was. _Not personally_. The Supreme Commander's flagship was a new design Alice had not seen before and the bridge appeared curvier like a Covenant vessel than the sharp, angular lines of a UNSC ship. It only added to her slight discomfort.

It had been several days since the three Spartans had undergone the various medical exams and debriefing sessions. While techs examined their armor's visual data captures, the Spartans gave an abbreviated report on the events on Arcadia, the shield world, _Tradewind_, the Covenant cruiser, and the Forerunner Installation B-23. The recitation sounded more like a campfire story to Alice but she kept it professional and to the point.

"I wanted to personally welcome you three back," Hood said in his deep, resonating voice. "Your merits and your resolve have been in keeping with the highest traditions of the SPARTAN Program." He lowered his head for a moment. "There are few of you left, now. We thought the last S2 was 117, but here you are." He raised his eyes and chin. "Bringing you back from the dead will be the least we can do."

He snapped his fingers and an ensign handed Hood a datapad. "I'm sorry this can't be more ceremonial, but I'm sure you don't mind."

Alice cracked a smile and saw Douglas give a slight nod of approval. Jerome, at the center, stepped forward and accepted Hood's hand in a shake.

When the Supreme Commander had congratulated the three of them he pressed a few buttons on the datapad. "I hereby reenlist the three of you into the ranks of ONI's Spartan Division once again."

On Jerome's cue, the three Spartans snapped to attention. Unexpectedly, Alice felt a swell of pride wash over her. It had been so long since they had been recognized as being a part of a group of Spartans larger than Red Team. _Though from the sounds of it, we're the only ones still alive_. Still, it felt odd that they had been decommissioned in the first place. _Spartan's may never die, but our paperwork tells a different story_.

"Orders, Sir?" Jerome asked.

Hood smiled. "You will be sent to Earth for new armor requisition and training. There is still much work to be done, but know that a well deserved respite is waiting for you." He finally returned the salute and nodded. "The details will be with Major Cliffens down in the hangar bay. You leave as soon as you're ready."

"Thank you, Sir," Jerome said for the three of them. With a final nod from Hood, the Spartans exited the bridge and headed down the quiet corridor.

Douglas was first to speak. "Talk about a shock to your system," he muttered.

Alice nodded. "Nothing's the same, really." She looked to Jerome and caught Douglas doing the same.

"We haven't changed," Jerome said softly. He stopped and turned around to face them. "We're still Red Team," he pointed out.

Douglas harrumphed. "But for how long? If we're the only surviving Spartans then they'll probably be sending us off to different squads just to fill in the gaps."

Jerome grabbed Alice's right shoulder and Douglas' left, shaking his head. "We're still Spartans. That will _never_ change."

Alice clutched Jerome's left forearm. "I know," she said solemnly.

Douglas nodded and lightly slapped Jerome's right bicep. "Just don't get all emotional on us, okay?"

Jerome laughed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Okay."

She motioned down the corridor with her head. "You want to find Anders and say goodbye?" While she tried to make the invitation sound communal, it was really intended for Jerome alone.

Jerome shook his head. "She's already left. I watched the ship she boarded leave this morning."

"Tough break," Douglas said. "Maybe we'll see her back on Earth?"

"Maybe," Jerome hesitated. "We'll see." He straightened up and returned his arms to his sides. "But for now, we've got a ride to catch."

As Jerome led the three Spartans to the hangar bay, Alice couldn't help but smile. It had been a while since the three of them had time to just sit and enjoy each other's company. She knew that if Lord Hood truly wanted Red Team to be as productive as that had been on previous occasions, then keeping them together was the wisest choice in the matter. _Hopefully things won't change . . . too much_.

* * *

James Cutter sat quietly on a sea-side bench, watching the distant, dark grey clouds roll over the emerald waters. He deeply breathed in the fresh air and took in the wonderful scent. A flock of birds fluttered past overhead to the safety of the ancient lighthouse on the cliff's edge a mere hundred meters to his left.

After James had finally been able to learn of his family's fate, he was quick to receive a slipspace comm packet from his daughter Ruth. She had told James to meet her here on Earth at this exact location and time. "I have someone that would like to meet you," she had said.

James leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, feeling his age in the bony joints' contact. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of figures approaching down the dirt path. He quickly stood and squared his shoulders, trying to see through the humid haze.

"Dad?" a voice beckoned.

"Ruth?" James asked, already starting for the source of the question. His eyes focused on a petite woman with long brown hair and eyes welling with tears. His throat tightened and James felt tears of his own fill his eyes. "Ruthie." Clad in a black tunic and red skirt, his daughter held out her arms and hurried towards him.

The figure walking beside Ruth stopped short while the father and daughter closed the distance between each other and embraced in a long awaited homecoming. Ruth held tightly to James with a fierceness that matched her usual passion. James kissed her cheeks over and over again, sobbing all along.

Ruth pulled away and held his face in her hands. "It is really you," she cried, searching his face. "You look great, dad."

James wiped away her newly cried tears with a tandem swipe of his thumbs. "And look at you. You're all grown up."

She laughed and pulled him in for another embrace. James felt his heart leap for joy and the tension that had been constructed around it eased with each breath he took in. "And how is this?" he asked, looking at the young man before him.

Ruth opened up her right arm to motion but didn't let go of Cutter. "Dad, I'd like to introduce you to your grandson: James Gregory Witten."

Clearing his eyes with thumb and forefinger, James got his first real look at his grandson. James Witten was the spitting image of his mother, Ruth, but had Cutter's jawline and boney stature. Definitely in his later teens, his grandson wore the UNSC recruit shirt proudly.

"It's a privilege to finally meet you . . . grandpa." While not showing much emotion, the younger James still smiled widely and hugged his grandfather tightly.

"You can't know how excited we are to see you," Ruth said, drying her eyes with a handkerchief.

"Actually, I do," Cutter said, stepping back from his grandson and taking Ruth's hand in hers. "I've missed you and your mother so much."

"I know." Ruth swallowed and lifted her chin up. "I'm sorry my husband Tyler wasn't here to meet you. He's on assignment with a Coalition force out in Covenant space."

Cutter nodded. "That's alright. I know how duty calls."

"He should be back before the month's end," James chimed in. "Until then we have you all to ourselves," he added with a grin.

James Cutter hugged them both again, not remembered when it was the last time he had felt this whole, this complete. It was almost foreign to him and yet familiar, like a song he forgot the words to but knew the melody.

"Come," Ruth said, taking both James' hands in hers. "Let's go home."

Smiling, James Gregory Cutter nodded. _Home_.

THE END


End file.
